Spirit of a Hero
by Mitzig
Summary: An advisary attacks each of the seven where they are most vulnerable.
1. Chapter 1

_This is an old story a reader was kind enough to request that I post here. It will read as if it is early in the TV series and make reference to some of the episodes and another story I wrote called "A Friend To Me" but you shouldn't need to read that one to follow the plot in this one. I have also made a deal with Sue to finish this series, so I need to catch up on all the loose ends I need to wrap up. Editing this is a big help. A Hero's Heart was a poem used in the series and was written by Dale Midkiff. I hope no one minds a "reprint"._

 _A HERO'S HEART_ _I stare across  
That solitary broken plain  
Each and every dawn  
Saddled with his thorn  
Trembling lathered messenger  
Churns up wind stressed tears  
Always searching for  
A hero's heart_

Chris Larabee might as well have been alone at the table, so lost was he in thought. He was aware that Buck was teasing the kid about something as the three of them shared supper. TWO. He caught himself in the irritating habit of accounting for all of his men even when no threat was present.

Josiah and Nathan were actually flirting with a couple of the saloon girls. FOUR. The dark gunfighter thought he saw Inez's masterful touch in what would otherwise have appeared to be a spontaneous rendezvous. No matter. The two men looked more relaxed than they had in several weeks. Chris Larabee was grateful for that. Thinking back on the return trip from the POW camp, the extra days they spent getting home had been therapeutic. That was a good word. It was Josiah and Nathan's word and their idea. A good idea.

Did those two realize the comfort they leant to the group in so many ways beyond physical care? They should, especially Josiah, with his insight into the value of, and his battle for, a heart at peace. But somehow Chris suspected that neither Jackson nor Sanchez saw the true depth of their value to this group. He watched them now. Those two were the bulwark of the seven; the voices of logic, pillars of quiet and gentle strength.

Even Clay Kestrel had seen it. When the manipulative son-of-a-bitch jockeyed to replace their numbers with his own, he had planned to keep Nathan and Josiah in the group. What Kestrel had seen, Chris himself had taken for granted. He would have to add that to the list of insights he would thank the man for just before he took great satisfaction in blowing his brains across a dusty street. While Clay had been willing to hold on to Sanchez and Jackson's stability, he had felt a deadly need to rid himself of the unpredictable ciphers in the equation. Larabee glanced at the poker table on the raised dais. He took a sip from his beer to hide the concerned attention he gave to one of these quicksilver variables who had proven more than Kestrel could accommodate for despite all his scheming and manipulation. Ezra Standish. FIVE.

That damn irritating Southerner had wounds that had been reopened by recent events to be sure. He was more withdrawn than usual and had reverted to an aloofness that hadn't been present since shortly after the seven had met. He had been forced to rebuild certain emotional walls to survive. Hell, maybe he only had to reinforce them. They had crumbled but not come completely down in the first place. Chris wasn't worried. The one man who had successfully breached those walls, by helping Standish survive the living nightmare of that POW camp, was Buck Wilmington. Wilmington could drag anyone back from the brink of isolation and despair. Larabee was living proof. So for now Chris was content to let their black sheep gradually return to the fold. Based on the large stack of coin in front of him and the dwindling funds in front of the rough cowboys at his table, at least his poker game was back on track. And it gave Buck something external to occupy his mind.

Buck Wilmington. Kestrel's other unaccountable factor. Where Kestrel had reopened old wounds for Ezra, he had given form and substance to vague issues Buck had carried around for years. As only Kestrel could, he had added 4+3 and convinced Buck the answer was six; that the lawmen in Four Corners would be better off if their numbers were lessened by one. Kestrel had taken facts and skewed them and put the blame on Buck. And Buck had believed him; the words had made sense to him because for so long he had feared they were true. Healing for the big-hearted regulator was in JD Dunne's constant companionship and kid brother-like devotion. It was a good thing. Because the Kid wasn't letting the older man out of his sight since they got back to Four Corners.

Words. Words from an enemy disguised as a friend. What damage they had done. Chris regretted the change in Buck. He missed the sardonically funny sense of humor Ezra had so recently begun to reveal. Neither had let go of all the ideas Kestrel had planted. Chris didn't know whether to try to talk about it with them or not. He knew his old friend well enough to be sure that the wrong words, even with the best of intentions could shatter Buck's fragile healing. He suspected much the same was true of the enigmatic Southerner. Always relying on his gun and straightforward truth, Chris had never thought of the damage that words could do. If he had, he would have been more careful with what he said and how he said it. Well, Chris wasn't good with words, so he would put it off. Ezra was okay at his table. A talk would probably only embarrass them both. Buck was okay when he was with JD. Like Nathan said, the boy was the best medicine for their other, overgrown kid. He looked down at the wanted poster beside him. It had arrived today.

 ** **CLAY KESTREL****

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE.

REWARD $1000.00

Murder, kidnapping robbery ...arson. Arson. _No, don't go there._ Now the written word, in the form of that wanted poster, had Kestrel on the run. The man would have to answer for the truth, not damaging lies. Judge Travis had done well getting the army to offer a bounty that high on the son-of-a-bitch. The bounty. That made Larabee think of the last member of his group. It brought a warm camaraderie and secure feeling. Vin Tanner. SIX. Unlike Kestrel, the wanted poster on Tanner was a lie. When the time was right they would all fight that lie together.

Vin had taken the role of calming factor during their search for the POW camp. He channeled his anger, refusing to strike out at the innocent because he couldn't strike out at the guilty. Larabee thought maybe he would try to learn from that. Larabee thought about the man who watched the jail tonight. Vin had not had an easy past. He had killed and would, in all likelihood, do so again. He was slow to anger, yet had shown himself to be as hard and his lust for blood and revenge on a par with Larabee when evil threatened the innocent or helpless. Or when someone took advantage of the good nature of his friends. And yet, at least to Chris Larabee, he stood out like a lighthouse beacon promising port in the storm. Even more, he had been and continued to be a calm in the eye of the storm that was Chris Larabee. There was a quiet inner strength there that Tanner might not know existed, but he willingly shared with the likes of the gunfighter Chris Larabee, simply because they called each other friend. He knew right from wrong on an innate level. And right and wrong mattered to the tracker. Chris Larabee knew right from wrong. Sometimes the difference didn't matter to him. Maybe Chris would wander over and spend some time with him on his shift at the jail.

 _As a dark stranger bleeds_

 _Hope lays near death  
Dreams of sage and sweet grass swirl  
Around eyes of forgiveness  
Clutching a tangled wreath  
On tender brow  
That can only crown  
A hero's heart_

Vin Tanner tried to relax at finally being home. He tried to think of his friends and the scars that had been left from their recent challenging experience and how to help them. He even thought to abandon his post, the jail was empty but for a drunk anyway, and join them for a drink. Instead, all he could think of was that damn poem and how stupid he had been to let it see the light of day. How could he have been so stupid as to let it be published, even anonymously? Now someone knew. He hoped no one would try to join him at the jail tonight. At least not until he got himself back in control. Vin fingered the yellowed newsprint.

The poem he had written had been torn out of the paper. The damaging words were printed neatly along the borders. "Why would a real man need to write poetry? ... The words are confusing ... Can't you say what you mean in plain English? ... You embarrassed yourself letting people read that." Each word bit deeper and more devastatingly in that he had to slowly sound it out and feel the meaning sink in. The note had been unsigned. It had been left tacked to his wagon. It had been printed. As if the writer had known that not only was the poetry a pathetically lacking attempt, but that it had been done by a virtual illiterate who would have to have the words printed to make them out. He hadn't moved to reading cursive yet. How did he dare think he could move past barely being able to pen his name or numbers into the realm of expressive writing?

It had been months since the poem had been printed; since he had confided in his friends that it was his. Chris Larabee had slid a shot glass to him the day he had read the poem. Vin had taken that as a salute to the words. Had it meant something else? Buck sounded proud when he asked first Ezra then Josiah to read it out loud. It had seemed that he liked those melodic voices saying the words and the differences in the deliveries. Had he been, in reality, trying to figure out what was being said? Ezra had said he "regretted that by being in such an inebriated state he lost the opportunity to transcribe that particular work so that it might see the light of day." _My friends would pretend to like it to spare my feelings._ Vin acknowledged ruefully. _This person I don't know doesn't have any reason to speak other than the truth._ Vin caught himself questioning a lot of things about himself and who he was; things he would never, otherwise, have connected to his writing poetry. He was almost glad when the report of a gun brought him out of his thoughts. He let the frantic shouts from outside distracted him as he unholstered his mare's leg and ran to see what trouble was brewing.

 _Begging the Maker  
For just one Gentle breath  
It is whispered  
We will walk together  
Past that trail of blood  
In shadowed truth we find  
A hero's heart_

Ezra cached the night's winnings beneath the loose floorboard in his room. It was a strange feeling, not hiding the money in his boot, not always being prepared for a hasty retreat; not always being ready to get out of town and not look back. He could hide the money in his room now, because he knew he would always be coming home. Home ... besides, he was still chafing over losing the $200.00 he had concealed in his boot to those desperadoes passing themselves off as Union patriots. Ezra had a bad feeling about the cowpokes he had been playing against tonight. They were bad losers and openly hostile. Especially the apparent leader. What was his name? Bannister? He had said it was Bannister. It had been a lie. He didn't respond to it with the reflexive attention you give to a name you've answered to all your life. No, he had to remember to look up when someone called him Bannister. He was trying to hide his real name. Like he was trying to hide his antagonism. That one let the hostility control him. Once he started losing, he was too angry to play a decent hand of cards. How that lack of control would translate to the way he lived his life boded nothing but trouble for Four Corners.

 _It is probably for the best that Mr. Larabee is insisting that we patrol in pairs._ Ezra mused. He was on his way to meet Mr. Jackson for that assignment. He suspected it was no coincidence that he was assigned to work with the healer. Of course they didn't need to concern themselves about his welfare or health. He was alright. He was back. They needed to believe that. But, he conceded to himself and no one else, it was nice to have someone worry about him.

"And I'm tellin' ya, Kid, there's catfish out there the size of covered wagons." Buck smiled as he leaned back from the remnants of his meal.

"You're full of crap, Buck." The young man got the words out around a bite of steak. "Right Chris?"

Before the gunslinger could respond his old friend continued, "They attack, protecting the nest, drag a man under 'til he drowns."

JD was still looking to Chris for a voice of realism and reason; that this was another of Buck's tall tales.

"Those she-cats, this time of year, round spawnin' time? They come out and grab you. You don't need to go lookin' for them." Larabee added, never cracking a smile, just continued to pick at his meal as he gave this answer.

JD stopped in mid-bite. He knew to question Buck's yarns. But Chris?

Josiah at the nearby table, had to duck his head and examined his whiskey so that his smile would not give his amusement away. But the look on the boy's face was priceless. He turned back to Nathan and the two ladies at his table as Wilmington clapped JD on the back and led him toward their night patrol. Buck's last words wafted back to him, "And the only sportin' way to go after those fish is grapplin'."

"Grapplin'?" the boy's voice asked.

"Oh, Lord," Josiah thought to himself. And he exchanged glances with Nathan who had also heard. He could read his friend's mind. "There go two accidents waiting to happen."

Ezra found himself on the boardwalk. He lit a thin cigar and leaned against the nearest post. The full moon was allowing for a night patrol of the surrounding territories as well as Ezra and Nathan's rounds of the town. He watched Buck and JD enter the livery to take that assignment. The calming, silver sheen the moonlight threw over the territory would make it a pleasant trip. It occurred to Standish that it was Mr. Wilmington who needed to be paired up with their healer. Buck wasn't always sleeping well, although he tried to hide it. Ezra could see it because it started during what they had been through together. Larabee saw it. The others? Yes. They were all aware and, at times, worried about Wilmington. Even the boy knew something was wrong, but perhaps not on a level he could put into words. He just wanted his friend to be safe and happy. That innocent, that sincere. Where words would oftentimes ring hollow coming from men who didn't know how to express themselves - how to admit they cared - emotions, making words unnecessary, flowed from their youngest in waves. Surprisingly, or maybe not so, it seemed that's what worked best on the older man. Sentiment seemed to mean more than any encouraging words. And, too, the young one only had hints, glimpses of the burden Buck carried. Ezra had heard the heart-wrenching words. "Chris won't come." "... My fault ..." "I should leave." Ezra had tried to tell his easy-going friend that what Kestrel had said had been lies. Larabee, in action, if not words, had said the same thing. And yet the ideas Clay Kestrel had planted haunted the other man.

Buck and JD strode into the livery. A silence had fallen between them. It wasn't uncomfortable, but JD knew it happened more now since they got back from the POW camp. He wasn't sure he was ready to know what had happened in there; what could so effect men like Buck Wilmington and Ezra Standish. JD was a bit in awe of these men all over again. Oh, he realized for a while he had been getting callous, jaded to being a part of this group, taking it for granted. Then he had seen Buck and Chris take on the whole of Clay Kestrel's rag-tag army just because they were finally together and tired of running. He remembered again how honored he was to have been taken in by these men. And he was glad to have that feeling back again - like the first time when he realized he had been allowed to be a party of something special.

It was good to have heroes. JD looked to his left - how did he end up with this man adopting the responsibility of seeing that he survived the move out west? He appreciated all over again how lucky he was.

"What's that goofy look on your face, boy?" Wilmington asked with a smile as they led the horses out of the stalls.

"Ain't no goofy look." He responded defensively. He received a good-natured whack on the back of his head for the effort. Buck was in a good mood tonight. Thank goodness. There had been times, lately, when he was so quiet, so ... so somewhere else. The young man's mind couldn't let it go - why wasn't Chris saying something? Didn't he know how much one word from him meant to Buck? Almost as much as a word of encouragement from either of them meant to JD himself.

"Got plans for later, Buck?" JD asked teasingly; wanting to encourage the jovial atmosphere. He also thought maybe the conversation would drive his own dark thoughts back into a corner.

"What makes you ask?"

"You're a little frisky tonight."

"Frisky!" Buck barked at the unexpected description.

Before either could follow up on the word, a cowboy staggered in behind them. He reeked of cheap whiskey and could barely keep his footing. He reeled directly into Buck. Buck caught the man with his right hand. His broken left hand was still on the mend from the abuse it took in the POW camp. "Whoa, Pardner, let's get your feet back under you." The tall gunfighter offered amicably. They both backed into the lanky peacekeeper's good-natured gray who ignored the situation as a not so rare occurrence.

But then from somewhere the drunk produced a club of heavy mesquite and slammed it viciously against Buck's temple. Buck crumpled to his knees. A second staggering blow landed before either JD or the older shootist could react. Buck was unconscious before he hit the ground. "BUCK-" JD screamed. Then he felt himself knocked to the ground, white light exploded behind his eyes and he realized the feigned drunk was not alone.

"Keep him quiet, damn it!" The drunk hissed.

Two men grabbed JD. He struggled as one rough suffocating hand cupped his nose and mouth until a balled-up bandana could be jammed past his lips. The hand smelled of stale cigarettes. The bandana smelled and tasted of whiskey and salty sweat. They had his wrists tied too-tightly behind his back before he knew what was happening. Eight seconds. Like hog-tying a steer. He was helpless before he had a chance to fight back. And in front of him, the blood from the wounds to Buck's temple and scalp was flowing freely to be absorbed in the hay beneath his head.

Nathan had been running a few last minute errands before he joined Ezra. Just as Ezra saw Nathan heading from the church to meet him ... "BUCK - " Nathan heard the cry. The tone left no doubt that something was wrong. He dashed toward the livery. Ezra, enjoying his cigar down the street, didn't hear the boy's shout, but saw Nathan's body language tense as he ran toward the livery. Ezra anxiously took off after the healer. Ezra caught up to Nathan as they burst into the stable.

Upon their entrance, the two men who had attacked JD drew their guns and aimed them at the lad's head as he knelt before them. Two other men supported an unconscious Buck between them and seemed ready to toss him over the saddle of a docile roan gelding as if he were no more than a bag of flour. Nathan and Ezra halted quickly just inside the double doors. They held their hands in clear view so that the men threatening JD would not become nervous. JD seemed to be aware of his surroundings, but barely.

"What the hell is going on here?" Nathan demanded.

"Stay back." It was the angry poker player, Bannister, Ezra grimaced. And the others were with him. This definitely had the feel of being planned. Nathan looked over at JD. The dirty bandana was shoved behind his teeth. He was probably gagging on the thing. The boy didn't notice. His eyes slid from Nathan's to Buck. The plea for help he was unable to put into words was no less clear. Nathan understood. The older man was out cold; oblivious to his surroundings and blood was trickling from his brow. It hurt the healer like a physical pain that he couldn't help the one friend or ease the worry of the other.

Bannister paced around Ezra and Nathan. He was judging them. He casually lifted Nathan's revolver from its holster. Nathan tensed. Then the knives where taken from their scabbards and tossed out of reach. The man knew exactly what he was making the man feel; the helplessness, the nakedness of being unarmed in a hostile situation. Bannister was quiet as he again walked around the two. Nathan forced himself to be patient, to watch for a chance to break the stalemate. He prayed the unpredictable gambler would do the same. Finally the trail rugged and weathered leader of this group leaned close to hiss into Nathan's ear. "Tell Larabee that Wilmington will die slow because of him. Wilmington will die for the company he keeps."

The man took Standish's gun from its holster. The Southerner was too still, not like himself in such a situation at all. Nathan watched him out of the corner of his eye. Bannister dumped all but one of the bullets from the cylinder and casually returned the impotent gun to its sheath. "Tell Larabee the kid will die to make Wilmington's end harder. We'll make sure they know they owe this all to their 'friend'."

"Suppose you leave your name with us." The calm in Ezra's voice only tended to infuriate the volatile leader of this pack. Nathan closed his eyes as he heard the drawl continue. "I'm sure Mr. Larabee will be anxious to know whose brains to remove from his skull cavity once he has extracted his friends from you and your lackeys."

" _Why was it that the one in the most immediate danger who was the one most likely to antagonize the enemy?"_ Nathan groaned to himself disgustedly. And at the same time, he answered his own question. " _Because that one is usually Ezra."_

Bannister reacted in a flash. He suddenly held Ezra's gun again and spun the cylinder. He pointed it at Ezra's head. Conditioning took over in the three friends who were conscious and they reacted as their childhoods dictated to their adult selves. Where Ezra made no move; showed no emotion, Nathan couldn't hide his concern; his fear for his friend. JD struggled. "You like to gamble you son-of-a-bitch?" The leader of the gunmen spit at the Southerner. "Do you really? How 'bout now when you can't cheat?" Without a second thought he pulled the trigger.

"NO!" Nathan shouted. In that split second that stretched into a lifetime, JD could no longer breath around the dirty cloth in his mouth. He began to pant and gasp for breath that wouldn't come. And then, the hammer fell on an empty cylinder. "You're the son-of-a-bitch." Nathan affirmed. His voice had taken on the low, dangerous quality usually reserved for the more dispassionate members of their cadre. Bannister studied him for a moment. And Jackson got the uncomfortable feeling that the man was evaluating him based on a preconceived notion - like someone had told him what to expect from him, possibly from each of them, and he wasn't conforming to his role. It was an icily uncomfortable feeling settling in, even given the current situation.

Then Bannister began to stalk around them again, as if re-evaluating the situation. He stopped walking behind the men and kicked the back of Ezra's knees forcing the conman to the ground. Nathan reacted reflexively and tried to reach his friend, only to be drawn short by the sound of the guns aimed at JD being cocked. JD's frustration and guilt for being the pawn in this game was palpable. Ezra broke his fall forward with his hands. Nathan grimaced as the man who seemed so angry fairly lifted the smaller man off the ground with a vicious kick to his stomach followed immediately by another. Sitting back on his knees to wrap a protective arm around his belly only left Ezra open to a final vicious kick to his face. His head jerked around with dangerous force. Blood spurted from his nose and covered the right side of his face from a cut the spur made high on his cheekbone.

"Stop it!" Nathan demanded; not knowing whether it would do more harm than good to make this man aware that the brutality had touched him, but not being able to hold the words back when the attack on Ezra was vicious and unprovoked.

Buck groaned. There was no consciousness in the sound yet, but it showed he was beginning to come around. Nathan, Ezra and JD's eyes all went to their fallen comrade to try to judge his condition. "We best be movin' out." One of the other men suggested. "'Fore one of the others shows up or these get out of hand."

No one could tell if Bannister heard or not. He again walked behind Nathan and Ezra. Nathan held his breath; worried what would happen next. He never again wanted to see the kind of helplessness that was reflected out of JD's eyes. Perhaps it was because he felt the weight of the exact same helplessness weigh down on him at the moment and understood how it felt. Ezra cupped his hand under his nose to catch the blood and try to keep it out of his mouth. With no warning the hot-tempered gunman grabbed a fistful of Ezra's hair and got into his face so that his hot breath permeated the air between them. "You, I'll take along as a bonus. You cheated us. Think you can cheat death?"

Ezra knew this kind of man and knew that silent tolerance of his threats would throw him off his game faster than any fearful or arrogant reply.

"What kind of a man attacks another man through his friends?" Nathan's disgust was scalding. "You ain't got the guts to face Larabee head on?"

"Oh, I'm not the one with the grudge. I'm just someone very good at his job." He backhanded Nathan across the jaw for no apparent reason other than he wanted to hit someone. Nathan came back up on his knees, too worried about the threat against his friends to consider his own situation.

Buck groaned again. This time he tried to move his arm, as if to put it under himself and push up. The arm didn't seem to be responding to commands, though, and it fell back to his side. It was still like a signal. Two men manhandled JD onto an unfamiliar horse. The leader held his gun on Nathan as a third man tied Ezra's hands tightly before him. "Not an extra horse, Bishop. Want we should take the big guy's gray for the gambler?"

There was a strange look that came over their leader's face. At the same time that Ezra saw it, Nathan also, somehow sensed immediately the man's consternation that his lackey had slipped up and used his real name. Because it concerned him so, Nathan memorized it. Bishop read this in the dark healer's features. His hostility flared even higher and turned to the remaining of the seven caught up in this ordeal. "You think that's good? You think you know me?" Nathan didn't reply. He didn't know how to in a way that might sooth the man's ire. "Maybe I have to give you something else to think about after all." There was a sadistic quality to the anger now. Nathan was sorry immediately that he had reacted to hearing the name. Why couldn't he be more like Ezra? "Turn around." The big man said. He was almost as tall as Nathan; tall enough to look him in the eye. Nathan hesitated. He met Ezra's gaze. "Turn. Around." Bannister repeated. Nathan sensed the man's gun drift toward Ezra's head. He saw no alternative and turned his back to the tableau. He heard some skittering. "Let Larabee know. Tell Larabee it's his fault." Then Nathan smelled it. Smoke. They had set the livery on fire.

"You can't ..." Nathan started. The sharp cough of a gun interrupted him. A body fell. He heard JD's anguished cry around the gag.

Nathan, dreading what he might see, tried to turn around. The bulk of the other man up against him prevented him from seeing what had happened. "Now we have enough horses." The man purred in Nathan's ear. Then the butt of the man's Colt connected violently at the base of the ex-slave's neck, and the gentle gunfighter remembered nothing else.


	2. Chapter 2

The smoke was thicker than the flames, but both were being fanned by a gusty wind that tunneled between the wide and open doors at each end of the livery. The flames were catching up to the smoke, fed as they were by the blow.

Several townspeople were already scurrying around searching for direction, a course of action when Vin exited the sheriff's office. Josiah was running to help from the church. The tracker fell in beside the man in black as he rushed past from the saloon.

As he got closer to the building, Vin heard the frightened squeals, snorts and stomping of the horses. The primitive fear of the horses, their not comprehending or understanding the attack, reached into his soul. Even as he veered to rescue the animals, he realized he was comparing the attack against them to the letter he had received. It brought him up short, that he would compare the life and death situation of innocent animals, to the mere receiving of a derogatory comment. Worse it had stopped him for a split second and stolen time that could make a difference. Larabee was past him. Tanner sped forward to make up for his lapse.

"Nathan!" Josiah cried. The healer lay half in and half out of the barn-like doors. Josiah skidded to his knees beside his friend, felt a pulse and immediately lifted him out of the doorway and away from the danger. The jostling revived the black man. He began to struggle. "Nathan, Nathan, it's Josiah. You're safe. Calm down." Slowly, Nathan's eyes focused. When he saw this, the Preacher took time to glance around.

The townspeople had started a more than adequate bucket brigade. One or two more hands wouldn't help much. Nathan seemed to have to think, to take in his surroundings. Then the flames in the livery seemed to galvanize him. He tried to move. Josiah held him down. And he fought his old friend. His thoughts were still fragmented. He hadn't even realized he had not explained the situation.

Larabee saw this; remembering he had watched Ezra walk out to join Nathan. His voice didn't reveal the dread the next question brought forward. "Nathan, where's Ezra?"

The searching look in Nathan's eyes as he focused on the gaping doors of the livery indicated that he was clearly expounding on this question as he gasped, "Buck ... JD ..."

Larabee jumped. He was headed into the flames. Josiah loosened his hold on Nathan, rose and tried to intercept the duster-clad leader. Vin gaped. Larabee turned in his skin as he thought only a cat could and almost went over Josiah's shoulder in his determination to get into the stable. Josiah couldn't hold on. Larabee was inside. Vin was with him - He knew exactly what his best friend was thinking. The gunshot.

The smoke was thick; the flames ripping with the wind. The smell of burning hay permeated the air. The frightened cries of the horses were increasing. At times Vin never even heard them, focused first on Nathan then the dread that one of his friends was still inside. But between those thought-focusing traumas, the sounds of the horses tore at him.

The first thing he noted was that Buck and JD's horses, still saddled, were inside. That didn't bode well for the two. As inseparable as they had become after JD thought he had lost the older man, visions of them going down together couldn't be erased from his mind. Then he saw the body on the blood soaked hay. Larabee, coughing from the smoke, was already there. The look on his friend's face was unreadable. But it wasn't destroyed. Vin moved closer and confirmed what he believed. The body wasn't one of his friends.

Vin pulled his bandana up over his nose and mouth to protect himself from the thick, oily smoke. They both looked around. Whatever had happened had taken place near this door. Buck, Ezra and JD weren't here. Not being able to save his friends, Larabee determinedly did what he could. He loosened the reins of their horses and slapped them on the rump to encourage them out of the doors. They didn't need the encouragement. Vin was already opening stalls and untying the rest of the horses. All seven boarded their horses here and Vin was equally determined to rescue them and the other stock. Some of the animals ran out the door near the body. The others fled out the back doors.

The roof was creaking. The fire had crawled up the walls to ignite the hay in the loft and was beginning to rain down on them. The smoke was choking them. But not until all of the animals were safe did Larabee and Tanner themselves escape the flames. Coughing, they knelt beside Nathan. Larabee noticed someone had brought out the body. It had to be Josiah. "You saved that! Buck and the others could have been in there!"

"You wouldn't have been saving the horses if you thought they were in there." Josiah answered patiently. He let his fear and anxiety out in certain ways - Penance or alcohol. Anger was Larabee's way. Nathan was just relieved at who was and wasn't dead. He had dreaded that Josiah would carry out a corpse in a bright green jacket.

"Better to help save the animals than that -"

"I didn't save the man. I'm not so fixated on Christian burial practices. At least not for the likes of him. I saved the only evidence we have to what is going on."

Larabee wanted to fight. He wanted to rail at something - someone. But Josiah's tactic worked. The man realized there was no benefit in continuing this discussion. "Nathan, what do you know?" The pained expression on the healer's face brought the gunfighter up short and his next question was with a sincere softness. "Are you all right?"

The other man nodded, fingering the knot behind his ear. His fingers came away bloody.

Josiah dipped his bandana in one of the pails that came past through the water brigade on its way to the flames and cleaned the blood. "They set the livery on fire as a diversion."

"Who?"

This time Nathan shook his head, 'no'. He didn't really know the answer to that. He supplied what he did know. "That one called the leader Bishop or some such. I think that's what bought him a bullet." After a beat, his dark eyes met those of his leader, "Do you know that name?"

"Am I supposed to?" Guilt immediately fed off the man in waves.

"No." The pained look on his friend's face added a degree of sincerity to his voice. "No. They said you wouldn't know them." It was, literally, the truth, Nathan rationalized. The man said he was hired to do this job.

"Wasn't this one of the men playing cards with Ezra earlier tonight?" Josiah asked, still looking to the body as a source of clues.

"Revenge?" Larabee hissed in righteous anger, "Those damn cards caused this ...?"

"No." Nathan started to tell him that it was revenge, but the gambler was innocent this time. It was the gunslinger's dark reputation that had ripped their group apart. But what good would that do? The implication of those words and the resulting guilt would only distract their leader from focusing on the rescue. "No," Nathan repeated. Single words were easier as he fought the throbbing headache, but he forced himself to supply more information. "They were after Buck. And JD as a tool to use against him. Ezra showing up just let them get back at him for winning their money."

"If this is over some outraged husband ..." Their leader didn't finish the sentence. Through his fury he couldn't find the words. Larabee's anger was like a jagged, broken wheel. Unleashed, the spokes stabbed out at any target. He was angry at the bushwackers who had kidnapped men who were closer to him than he could ever admit, even to himself. But those responsible weren't here. When Chris Larabee wasn't able to focus his anger on the guilty, if the innocent or injured party were a closer target, they felt his ire. That lack of control had done considerable hurt to relationships ever since Josiah had known the man. He feared it was only a matter of time before the misdirected anger caused irreparable damage. At least this time neither of the maligned had heard the accusations. But then again, maybe he'd rather have Buck and Ezra here to defend themselves than at the mercy of such violent men.

JD was horrified that they would leave Nathan unconscious in the flaming stables. But Chris, Vin and Josiah would have heard the gunshot and already be on the way. Nathan would be safe. At least there was that. The young sheriff remembered how he had watched their attackers indifferently kill the man who had called the leader Bishop and all but sling the smaller gambler over the dead man's horse. Then they had led their captives toward the back livery doors. The boy recalled he had been almost cocky by that time. Seven horses together? Vin would be on them before they reached the scrub brush country outside of town.

Those hopes had been shattered as the men immediately separated upon hitting the street. One of the men circled back to track the activity as the town fought to save the livery. Ezra and Buck were lead by two of their captors each in an opposite direction. The leader of the group ponied JD's unfamiliar mount in a third direction out of town. Now JD couldn't hide his anxiety as cold realization sank in. He was alone and couldn't help his friends. They had split up and how would even Vin follow three separate trails? How would he know which one to follow? Most frightening - more so than seeing Buck unconscious and unable to protect himself, more so than Ezra's green jacket disappearing into the gloom, at the mercy of a man who had only smirked when his own partner had been gunned down by their leader - most frightening was the look on the man who led his horse. The man seemed to read his mind - the hope and then the hope gone. And the man laughed.

The fire had, indeed, been a diversion. The hay had been dampened to cause more smoke than blaze or permanent ruin. Why would someone take such care to minimize property loss? Josiah didn't have time to contemplate the situation. It was something in Nathan's eyes that caught and held Josiah tonight. The flames were near extinction. The darkness was creeping back by degrees. But they didn't hide what Josiah saw in his best friend's eyes. Deceit. Nathan Jackson was hiding something. That something could cause the usually brutally honest healer to conceal facts that might save their friends concerned the preacher deeply. So involved in trying to read the rocky emotions of Larabee and Jackson, Josiah didn't realize Vin was missing until Chris's brusque greeting announced his reappearance.

"Anything?"

"Releasing the other horses erased any trail I could pick up here. Further out I still couldn't pick up sign from seven horses together." He was basing his search on the information Nathan had provided as to the number of men who had been involved in the attack. "Maybe at first light ..."

"Moon's almost as bright as early morning light. Seven horses, Vin. Buck and the others may not have to first light." As Nathan and Josiah heard it, it was a question - desperate but simply saying 'Are you sure?'

Vin heard accusation. His self-confidence was already eaten at, first by the written attack and then when his comparison of the criticism had slowed his response time to a situation that could have been life or death for four of his friends. And though it was not something he could put into words, Vin felt that the part of him from which the words came was the part of him that helped him read sign; interpret nature. Now his self-confidence took an equally violent blow when he thought he was failing his friends. "I'll try again." He said simply and was gone.

Larabee turned back to Nathan. "Did they say anything? Any clue who ...?"

"They were hired. The man behind this wasn't there."

"Do you remember anything they said? To give you a clue where they were headed?"

"They were careful." Nathan replied groggily. The adrenaline surge was wearing off. "Mighty careful." He nodded to the body. "That one accidentally called the leader by his real name. That's the result."

Chris stared into the darkness. "Bishop." He struggled with it unsuccessfully.

Josiah came up with a course of action. "We'll get with Mrs. Travis in the morning. Wire some towns about the name ... go through wanted posters ..."

"That's not going to tell us where they are!" Larabee was again striking out in his helplessness.

"You got a better suggestion?" Josiah asked softly, trying to keep any challenge out of the question. Chris met his eyes then stalked off into the dark night between the street fires.

There was something wrong with all three of his friends tonight. Josiah had never been able to reach Larabee in this state. It caused more distance between them when he tried. Vin was out looking for impossible signs because he thought if Chris asked it of him, he should be able to do better. Nathan was the only one within his reach just now. That one he could make talk. He met Nathan's eyes as he offered him a hand up. Nathan knew the interrogation he was in store for if he didn't concede gracefully. It showed on his face. Josiah broke into a broad smile despite the circumstances. Nathan returned it. It was good to have Josiah around. To share the burden he carried. He couldn't afford to tell Larabee he was the reason for their friends' peril. He could tell Josiah. Together they would figure something out.

Vin opened one bat wing door enough to slip through. The others were at the usual table. Was there comfort in rallying here? Or did it drive home the loss; that some of their number were missing? Vin knew Josiah and Nathan could have been asleep because it was the smart thing to do. But the volatile Chris Larabee shouldn't - couldn't - be left alone. And so they stayed up to watch over him and hopefully prevent any reckless actions.

Tanner knew that Larabee would have been equally worried about Josiah or Nathan if they were the missing. Vin knew how much his friendship meant to the older man. He didn't know why. He didn't analyze. It was one of those friendships that would be lessened if you tried to figure why it worked. He would be thankful for it. Be inspired by it. It was the three men who were missing who weren't reconciled in Larabee's mind. The boy didn't know if he had earned the gunfighter's respect. The dark clad gunfighter had never taken the time to tell him that he had. The old friend thought he still had to earn forgiveness. Larabee had never said there was nothing to forgive. The antagonistic gambler didn't know if he had earned his trust. Chris had never told him trust had been there from the beginning or he would never have gotten his second chance. If anything happened to them before the slate was cleared, it would always be etched in the memory. As much as Vin was worried about his friends, he worried about Chris. The thoughts flashed through his mind in the time it took him to move from the door to his friends' table.

Chris Larabee looked the question at his friend from beneath the wide black brim of his hat; read the response and lowered his eyes back to his glass. Without a word he knew the tracker had been unsuccessful in his search. Chris shot the liquor back and poured another. Josiah and Nathan weren't drinking. There would be time enough for that later if they needed the escape. Larabee, however, unhesitatingly poured another shot and one for the tracker. Vin ignored his glass.

Chris held his glass between forefinger and thumb. Suspended there it caught the light like flame and it caught the tracker's fascination.

 _Soft red fire ..._

Tanner shut down the thought forcefully.

Larabee downed the liquid like it was water.

 _Soft red fire that doesn't burn ..._

"I hear Buck gave in to take the boy grapplin'." Josiah murmured as if things would be back on track shortly. "Reckon he'll grab that one big as a Conestoga?"

Vin played along, surprising himself. But it was to give his mind something external to focus on.

 _Lies believed and good times gone ..._

Vin shook his head to get the poetic words out of his mind.

"I want Buck healed up before he goes out like that." Nathan growled as if it were the most important injury facing the tall man.

"Buck don't know how to be sick." Chris said. There was history there. Bitterness.

 _A memory that won't be scalded clear ..._

"Buck and Ezra ain't neither 100% yet." Nathan shot back.

"Well, they ain't fishin', are they? They're out there with men who are 100% and want to kill them." Chris growled and drank directly from the bottle. Vin pulled himself up and left abruptly. Josiah and Nathan watched him leave the room. Larabee, lost in his own emotional turmoil, missed what was going on with his troubled friend.

Vin's boots seemed to hit the hard boardwalk in rhythm to the words that wouldn't leave his head. He tried to block them from his mind or concentrate on ways to find his friends. The words wouldn't be drowned out.

 _Soft red fire that doesn't burn  
_ _A memory that won't be scalded clear  
_ _Of lies believed and good times gone  
_ _That maybe never were_

 _I exist the day to live the glass_  
 _And find in the amber bottom_  
 _The last rosy swirl of all things that should have been_  
 _But finally never were_

 _Oh, God, let the magic work_  
 _Don't let me grow immune_  
 _To the slow stupor I grow_  
 _'Gainst truths that return all too soon._

The image of his haunted gunfighter friend emerged in words. It came as naturally as breathing. How the hell could he be thinking of poetry at a time like this?! Vin threw himself into the chair outside the sheriff's office and pulled the yellowed, accusatory paper out of his pocket and fingered it. Why wouldn't the rhymes leave him alone? He never wanted to be part of them again.


	3. Chapter 3

JD rode docily beside the man next to him. He wasn't sure if he had ever hated a man before. Just after leaving Four Corners the man had pulled up the reins on both horses. Grabbing JD's chin and pulling him around, he used the glow of the full moon to drill his glare into the younger man's eyes. "I'm going to untie you. I'm going to take the gag out. If you run, your friends will die. If you go for help, if I get arrested, they'll still die."

JD remembered looking back. They were barely past where the main street gave way to the hard-packed prairie road between towns. He could ride back. He could get Larabee and make this man talk. But what if the man escaped? What if he didn't know where the others had been taken? What would Buck do in his place? What would Vin do in these circumstances?

The man had ridden off. The arrogant bastard had never even looked back to see if JD would follow. It was like the man knew how the boy would react. Worse, it was like he was testing a theory as to how he had been told the boy would react.

And so, now, a full day into the unrelenting desert, JD found himself following slightly behind the man and memorizing every feature. The man's stringy gray hair hung down thin and straight as a board to his shoulders. Small pox scarred his face. The flat bulbous, ruddy nose somehow had JD thinking of someone who couldn't control his drinking. JD would never forget the face. And if anything happened to his two friends, he would escape and hunt this man down and kill him.

The man acted like he thought he could predict what JD would do. Could he predict that killing the gentler influences from the boy's life and leaving him with only the influence of a Chris Larabee would be signing his own death warrant as well as a death warrant for anyone who helped hurt his friends?

\+ + + + + + + Ezra knew they had ridden through the night when the first morning rays finally began to chase away the chill. He was blindfolded, but even without that, he couldn't have kept up with the subtle angles and detours this man had taken to conceal their final destination. Ezra Standish was not an outdoorsman.

At sunrise the man ' _had they called him Perkins?_ _'_ had stopped and pulled Standish off the rough-gaited horse. He untied the gambler's soft, talented hands so that he could striped off his rich green jacket, brocade vest, ruffled shirt and rig for his derringer. They had already taken the small firearm.

Whoever they were, these men had known Ezra carried the sleeve weapon. They had known of the bond that had grown between Wilmington and the boy. They had known there was a past between Larabee and Wilmington. These men had way too much information regarding the goings on in Four Corners and its resident peacekeepers.

The man never removed Ezra's blindfold. But the clicking sound told him his captor was delighted to now investigate the spring mechanism that worked the small gun's arm piece. The man was distracted. The metal on metal told Ezra exactly where the man was. The conman smiled to himself. This would be too easy.

Based on where the sound came from and how tall he remembered the man to be, Ezra threw his shoulder hopefully towards the other man's solar plexus. Ezra was rewarded with a startled gasp for breath as he and his captor went to the ground. He had ripped off the blindfold and landed two blows before the other man could react. He slammed Perkins' hand against a rock until he let go of the derringer.

Perkins finally got the leverage to kick the smaller man off, but Ezra bounced back to his feet immediately ignoring the protesting injuries from the night before. With a long practiced slight of hand, Ezra Standish came up with the six-shooter that had so recently rested in his adversary's holster. Perkins raised his hands slowly. "You do this you best keep runnin'." The man's voice tried to show more confidence than he felt. "Those other two will be dead and Larabee'll never let you rest."

The taller, heavier man started to worry when he didn't see any reaction in the gambler's face. _I don't have any doubt I could hide from Mr. Larabee you low-life son-of-a-bitch. You're just lucky I've learned recently I can't run from myself._ The gambler didn't keep the gun directed at the other man. They both knew where they stood for this particular hand. The rest of the game was still to be played.

Ezra realized he hadn't had any water since before this ordeal began and they had ridden already to where the dry, cracked red clay began to give way to the powdery wind-beaten silt of the true desert. Ezra sidled over to Perkins' horse and grabbed the canteen. After taking a swallow, he poured more water over his head to give himself time to think. "I'll take you back to town. I'm sure Mr. Tanner can convince you to tell us everything you know with a few techniques he has acquired from the native inhabitants of this land."

Perkins had to figure out what had been said. But, unfortunately, he had an answer. "We're on a time schedule. You're cuttin' it close as it is. Any of the three of us don't show up, the others kill their men."

 _Damn it._ The gambler cursed himself, although it never showed on his face. Every logical bone in his body said ride out. A few of them even dared suggest Larabee would understand if he were to bring this one in and get help. But Buck looked to have been hurt pretty badly. JD wouldn't be able to think beyond that fact. Ezra's mind flashed uncontrollably to Nathan unconscious in the burning barn. He clamped down on that train of thought. Stay with what must be dealt with first. There will be time for the other later.

The man who so recently had the upper hand watched the well-dressed dandy. How had he gotten the drop on him? What would he do now? He carried the gun casually, not overtly on guard or concerned about the taut situation. But still, Perkins had the feeling the man would as soon shoot him as not. He watched Standish saunter over, pick up the derringer, palmed it then look from his shirt and jacket into the glaring sun. He turned conversationally to Perkins. "Removing the shirt is to insure the greatest debilitating effects of the sun?"

Perkins' already creased brow wrinkled in confusion. He didn't want to say the wrong thing, but for the life of him he didn't understand the question. Ezra saw this and shook his head. With his patience and perhaps time waning, he backhanded the man. "Is it part of the plan that we suffer from the effects of the sun?"

"Yeah." The man said slowly. _What the hell am I doing._ Ezra shouted to himself mentally. Outwardly he gave nothing away. _Well, I guess I'm out of luck with the shirt_ It amazed him how, with this thought, he could suddenly feel the sun's heat being absorbed by his skin. But if he was wearing the shirt when they made it to the rendezvous point, it would garner unwanted suspicion.

Ezra found his own gun and holster hooked over the saddle horn of Perkins' saddle. He fingered it and let Perkins sweat the silence as he formulated a plan of action.

Finally Ezra turned and dumped the bullets from Perkins' six-shooter. He kept the derringer aimed in the outlaw's general direction. It was enough to keep that hired gun at bay. Ezra tossed the revolver back to Perkins. "Return it to the holster." The empty gun was replaced.

Only then with his free hand did Ezra retrieve his own revolver while leaving the holster draped where it was. Ezra mounted his bay, palmed the derringer, concealed the other gun between his saddle and saddle blanket and sighed. The sweat wouldn't do it much good, but c'est la vie. Finally he wrapped the length of rope around his wrists as if he were tied. "Shall we proceed?"

When Perkins was on his gelding Ezra pulled up next to him. "And with all due haste, I suggest." Ezra added. "Because if we are too late to save my friends, I will cut your heart out and let you watch it take its last beat." He allowed Perkins to pull forward as if still in control of the situation.

Foster followed his assignment. He was to stay in town and see how the others reacted to the kidnapping of their friends. He sat in the chair outside the general store and observed. The Boss would be pleased.

Larabee split his time between drinking and wandering the streets like a rabid dog. He was alienating himself from everyone in town. While it might not have been a conscious action on his part, it was deliberate.

The Tracker was exhausting himself searching for clues that didn't exist.

The Preacher seemed resigned. Resigned that his God was not a fair God and miracles weren't forthcoming. Whatever regrets he had over the loss of his friends were buried with careful practice beside so many other regrets. He couldn't comfort his friends. He couldn't comfort himself. He surprisingly seemed to comfort the townspeople, the working girls, and the ranchers, perhaps feeding them false hope he himself couldn't believe in.

The Healer kept himself busy with other injuries and sickness in town. It was almost as if he sought out people who needed his care as a means to occupy his mind.

It seemed amazing that after less than 24 hours, the remaining lawmen were avoiding each other's company again. They had joined each other in the saloon at first, but those times were fewer now. The frustration of not having a course of action, of not being able to help their friends, was tearing them apart. Being together reminded them of their helplessness; reinforced their failure. Men like these did not like to be reminded of such things.

The Boss was a genius. He had complimented Foster by saying that he had the mind to appreciate what was happening as the family unit disintegrated. Appreciate it? More than that, he was fascinated by it. There was more damage being done here than they could have done with any gun.

Ezra's horse trailed behind Perkins as they pulled to a stop before the men camped in the vast stretch of nothingness that was the badlands. There were a few yucca and saguaro. Not even barrel cactus or prickly pear dared this climate. The silty, powdery sand was the kind that would burn up through the soles of your boots. There were rugged outcroppings two to three hundred yards further beyond, but here there was only sand and sun and heat.

Buck was sitting, his legs akimbo and his long arms to his side. He was staring into the distance as if he were not quite aware of his surroundings. The rust colored blood, dry enough to start flaking on his neck and face, gave clear indication that they had not given them water to drink, much less cleaned the wound. JD was beside him, whispering softly. Like Standish, the shirts had been removed from the other two peacekeepers. Their arms were tanned, from where they would roll up their sleeves before indulging in manual labor. But the pale skin on their chests and back and shoulders was beginning to turn pink.

Ezra was touched at what he read in the young man's face as he looked up and saw his Southern friend alive. First and foremost, he was glad to see his friend safe. He was glad to have someone he trusted to help him with Wilmington. Then he was regretful that his friend was in the situation with them. Ezra smiled encouragingly at the boy and winked.

Bannister "I'll-kill-you-if-you-call-me-Bishop" was beside the horses, and between Ezra and his friends. A bear of a man stood even closer to the boy. The last man in the crew, who reminded Ezra of an Opossum, was watering the horses. Buck was in no condition to help them. The boy tried so hard. But would he know how to react quickly enough when Ezra made his move?

Ezra sighed to himself. It was an elaborate gamble, but the stakes were too high to fold. Ezra mentally sucked in a breath as Bannister called out, "You're late, Perkins."

Perkins didn't know what to say. To distract them Ezra jumped off of his horse to dash toward JD and Buck. "JD!" The emotional outburst was carefully gauged. It did the job. More of a reflex, more to stay in command of the situation, Bannister moved between Ezra and his friends. In that instant, Ezra grabbed the man by the throat and stuck the tiny gun to his temple. The bear and the 'possum were fast enough to draw their weapons and point them at JD and Buck. JD had moved to stand between Buck and the guns. His eyes moved from Ezra to the others. "Gentlemen," Ezra finally drawled, "shall we negotiate this situation?"

Buck was trying to stand, but his equilibrium was suffering from the head injury. "Stay still Buck! We got it!" JD pled. Ezra forced himself to focus on the threat before him. _WE GOT IT?_ Ezra repeated to himself. This situation was hardly under control. _That's comical._

"What'cha got in that peashooter, two shots?" The leader of the men hissed.

"But I assure you I am proficient and will take one of you out with each bullet." He replied to Bannister.

"And the rest of us kill you three."

"But which of you will be left standing? Is this employment worth it?"

Perkins was sweating. "My gun's empty. He got the drop on me." The rest was left unspoken. He would be useless in this confrontation.

"G -go for the one furthest from Buck. I'll keep this one from getting to him." JD referred to the bear beside him and tried to act brave. He meant what he said, but didn't know his chances against the mountain of a man. He hoped his willingness to fight, if nothing else, would add some support to Ezra's position. He regretted that his voice betrayed his fear.

Ezra almost laughed out loud. JD wasn't experienced enough to watch his enemies reactions. JD's anxiety made him an unknown quantity. It showed in the way Bannister's body tensed. Worrying over what a frightened cub, with just enough experience to have killed, would do to protect his own, threw the hardened gunfighter off his game. Ezra made a mental note to tell the boy how well that worked and to use it to his advantage as long as his youthful looks allowed.

"How much are you getting paid to do this?" Ezra asked casually. He kept Bannister as a shield between him and the others. He very gradually started moving toward his friends - not enough to make them a single target, but close enough to cover them if it all went to hell.

"How much?" He asked again to conceal his movement.

"Thousand dollars. Split between the survivors." Perkins submitted.

"Perhaps I can alleviate some tension in our little stalemate. What if I increase that sum? You return us safely to Four Corners, and tell us who hired you...?" Ezra let the question trail off and waited for a response. The men were clearly afraid of the man they were working for, but the money was tempting.

"Ezra," When the silence looked to linger, JD called softly as not to distract him too much, "Buck needs some water. We haven't had any since..."

Somehow that made the gambler very angry. He turned vicious green eyes on Perkins. "Give the boy a canteen." He hesitated and looked to Bannister for permission. When the man was slow in responding, Ezra roughly tapped him on the temple with the derringer. "To show good faith in the arbitration."

Bannister finally nodded. Perkins complied. "Stay away from him. Toss it to his feet." Ezra ordered, trying to keep as much control as possible over the volatile situation. The man complied.

JD scrambled to the canteen. His hands were tied in front of him, but he was still able to quickly get it to his dazed friend's lips. The Southerner watched. Buck seemed to be aware of his surroundings just not as coordinated as he usually was.

"Easy, easy," JD encouraged as the big man drank hungrily from the canteen. It wasn't long before he shoved the water to the boy in a motion clearly insisting he drink his share. Where the boy touched the older man the skin on both their arms turned white briefly before returning to its reddish tinge. A sunburn already. Damn. "Where are their shirts?"

Bannister was ready to negotiate now and answered with a question of his own. "What guarantee do we have you'll give us the money?" He had shown himself too readily influenced by money at the poker table. Ezra knew he had him hooked. Ezra had edged to his saddle where the larger, more effective gun was concealed. Just as he took hold of the grip, the shot rang out.

Ezra felt the burn in his side and his legs collapsing before the sound registered. A red veil covered his vision. The six shooter fell from numb fingers. He felt someone rip something from his other hand. The derringer was gone. The same someone shoved him roughly onto his back.

Standish saw JD scramble to get to his side. The huge gunman grabbed the boy around the waist and completely lifted him off the ground. Buck was able to get on the man's back. In his weakened state, the rogue was thrown off the man's shoulders like a terrier pup.

One man had a gun pointed at Buck's head. By the look on his friend's face, Ezra was afraid the threat of the gun wouldn't be enough to keep him from doing something foolish. JD was still struggling in the grasp of the man-mountain.

From what Ezra could tell the bullet had gouged a chunk of flesh and muscle from across his rib cage. Thankfully a bullet from that distance had lost some velocity. Still his side burned unmercifully. There was no sign of the sniper. Ezra noticed even their captors seemed surprised by the gunshot. Disturbed, even. They too were looking around for its source.

The shot had to have come from the stone outcropping probably 200 yards west. _Hell of a shot_ Ezra caught himself gasping as the initial shock wore off and the pain filtered into his consciousness. Bannister hunkered down to observe him impassively. Ezra didn't react. He knew from the poker table how to play this man. Ezra couldn't keep the pain from etching its mark on his face, but he kept it to a minimum. The space of a few heartbeats seemed an eternity. Bannister looked around as if to confirm who could and who couldn't hear him. Bannister got in Ezra's face. "Now we'll negotiate, you son-of-a-bitch." + + + + + + +


	4. Chapter 4

Josiah studied the forlorn tracker in the light of the setting sun. He was seated in front of the jail. Sanchez felt he was looking at another man. The relaxed 'I know who I am, for better or worse' Vin Tanner wasn't there. This one was tensed, his nervous fingers fidgeting with the harmonica instead of playing it …

As he moved silently closer, Josiah was surprised to see that what he had assumed to be the mouth organ was instead a slip of paper the younger man was folding and unfolding without looking at it.

"Evenin', Vin," The big man greeted him as he deftly snatched the paper from the jittery fingers.

"Damn it to hell! Josiah!" _Damn if he almost didn't go for his gun at the intrusion._ Josiah noted as he read. Even after taking in each word, the preacher couldn't quite absorb what he held. "What is this?" He was indignant for his friend.

"Please, Josiah …"

"Is this what has you distracted?"

"What do you think of me? That I'm frettin' over such as that with Ezra and ..." Josiah put a gentling hand on his friend's shoulder. It gave the shy tracker the encouragement he needed to try to explain himself. "It's like the part of me that... that felt those words is the part that helps me read nature - and the changes a man causes when he moves through it. Can that be true, Josiah?

"Your confidence is gone?"

"I can't find the tracks. Eight horses…How can I be so messed up just 'cause someone don't like the way I threw a few words together I…" He trailed off, not knowing what to say or how to say it.

Josiah was quiet for a moment before he spoke softly, sincerely, intensely so that Vin would listen, "It may be many years before we understand how one part of who we are is a part of all else we are. It took a lot of courage to put your thoughts in writing. Whoever knew to attack that knew he was attacking all that you are. Don't let it best you." Josiah's words grew in intensity. "They were words to be proud of."

Vin didn't meet his eyes, he stared at the paper and wallowed in the silence. No matter how he tried to pull himself out of the anonymous words, they held him tight. But Josiah, reading his mind, threw him a life line. "Why is it easier to believe one hard word from a stranger who hides behind anonymity than your friends?"

Vin squinted at the words. Then Josiah remembered that English was almost a second language to the man who, as a boy was raised by the natives of the plains. His knowledge came from common sense and the need to be in touch with the land that kept him alive. Too bad so many more didn't realize that was as important if not moreso than 'book learnin'. "Anonymity means someone who isn't brave enough to tell you who they are, maybe because they know they are only trying to cause you pain or to lose your trust in yourself.. or because he knows that if he was identified you couldn't get to him before six other men had beat him into coyote food." The wise man added with an evil, toothy smile, to ease the tension and, at the same time, remind Vin he was not alone.

"You wouldn't say anything if you were thinkin' the truth would be hurtful." Tanner said in a small voice. This was not Vin Tanner. Was this the memories of a young 10 year old Vin Tanner speaking? No violence or threat of a beating or bullet would have brought this proud, honorable man this low.

Josiah, understanding men who attacked with words, his father being one of the best, suddenly had him hating the breed all over again. "We wouldn't let you embarrass yourself."

"You didn't know."

"Mary showed us before it went to print."

"But there weren't no name…"

"She was afraid it was too good and too sensitive..." There was no need to open up the discussion that the gentle yet strong words sounded all the world like the man Vin Tanner showed himself to be everyday. There was no doubt where the words came from, not to the newspaper lady who was teaching him to read or his friends who knew him better than he realized. Instead, he smiled softly at Vin's embarrassment at the word, "... she was worried that it would open you up to physical attack. No one could expect this profane emotional violation." He thumped the paper with his finger angrily.

"Chris saw this before…?"

"Said the part of you that the poem comes from is what keeps the bounty hunter a man. He said no one should be afraid to feel. I think he spoke from his heart. Personal experience."

There was a silence then, growing too long between them. Josiah repeated his earlier question to stop the silence, "Why is it so hard to believe the truth in the words of friends over the lies on an enemy? A stranger?" He watched the younger man struggle with the ideas. This one and the one planted by the critical paper. "Try it, Vin. See which one you're afraid of and which one feels right."

"Ya know," Vin started, with a self-depreciating grin, "JD etched marks in all of our horses' shoes. Said he wanted to make them easy for me to find… didn't have the heart to tell him I knew the natural wear of all those shoes well enough to follow..." And just that quickly the conversation over the power of words was over. There was just so much two men could share. But it was clear that Vin had come out on the other side as his old self if not better, because he was now clearly seeing something in the search for their friends he had missed before. That was the conversation that was important.. or so Josiah had thought...

Tanner jumped up, suddenly angry. He surprised Josiah. "This ain't' me. Frettin' over words - mine or anybody else's. Questioning something I've been good at all my life it's... It made me forget I could follow the horse shoes closest to Buck and JD's horses. One had a deep cut..." He could remember the shoe now, clear as day. He'd seen it, would always recognize it, but the part of his mind that would know how to use it had been so very distracted, "I'm getting soft."

"You ever have a friend before? A real friend?"

Vin stopped instantly and stared at the Preacher as the big man continued. "We ain't men geared for that. I never had so much to lose before. You?"

Vin thought back to the older man in the tribe who raised him. "I'd just forgotten how it felt."

Vin sat back down. Josiah sat beside him. The shared peace that was again between them was something Vin had always been able to read. Come morning Vin would revisit the outer edges of where the horses stampeded from the stables. As the hoof marks became further apart, he would find that cut horse shoe. Come morning, they would act.


	5. Chapter 5

JD was curious. Whoever grazed Ezra had never showed up. Now he, Buck and Ezra were sitting in the hot white sand with no shirts, no hats and no water.

Their captors kept the camp throughout the day. They had their shirts and hats that protected them from the worst of the sun's debilitating effects, and they drank water whenever they wanted. But they weren't immune to Buck and Ezra when the two were together.

As Buck had seemed to revive some, he first visually checked Ezra's wound. It was bleeding, but not much. So maybe it wasn't a bad thing. The slight bleeding might wash some of the dirt out and lessen the chances of infection. The blood was staining the waistband of his trousers and the experience of the gunfighter told him that it would be turning tacky and uncomfortable. He was sure Ezra hated uncomfortable. He reminded himself it could be worse.

Resigned to their situation, at least temporarily, Buck decided to amuse himself by irritating the hell out of their captors. It was a natural talent he had refined over the years, often on Chris Larabee to pull him out of his often churlish moods. He started by explaining in elaborate detail how whiskey would increase the effects of the sun. He tried to wheedle them into torturing him with some until Ezra volunteered the fact that they probably didn't have any. They couldn't afford it having lost all of their money because of their abhorrent gambling skills.

Their kidnappers were having some palaver of their own but it was clear by the occasionally tensed shoulders or head that almost turned to glare at them that their audience was hearing every word. And it was getting to them.

Now Buck was lying on his back in the sand, eyes closed and had moved on to a diatribe on Chris Larabee's penchant for vengeance. "I had to follow him across two states and part of the territory one time when some fellas beat up a friend of his and stole his grub stake. And fast? He was so mad, he called all three of them gunfighters out an' took 'em on at the same time. Sorriest thing, when he has to shoot that fast, he don't have time to wing a body. They're all pushin' up daisies, now."

"But at least it was fast?" Ezra asked with a false concern.

"Nope, fires at center mass. Two were gut shot. One took out a lung."

Ezra tsk-tsked at the ungentlemanly demise.

JD turned to hide a smirk as the 'possum squirmed. His friends were fascinating him with the way they were eating away at the self-confidence of these men with mere words while they were, themselves, in such vulnerable positions. What would it accomplish? If they were working toward a goal, they hadn't let JD in on it, but it did pass the time.

"It never ceases to amaze me that you survived your association with him all those years." Ezra mused.

"It never ceases to amaze me you've survived your association with him all of two years." Buck responded in a low key imitation of the southerner's drawl.

"Touché." Ezra smiled with genuine affection in the tone.

"You're a gentlemen and a scholar, Ezra." Buck replied keeping up the banter.

"That puts me in mind of Mr. Sanchez." Ezra offered. "I suspect he could break church pews in his anger and I feel sure he would be able to break a man's back with his bare hands."

"Might rather it. Might like bein' the one to send a man of a certain attitude toward evil to visit St. Peter." Buck observed.

"An appeal to his religious roots? To feel the fruits of his labor? Guns and bullets are so long distance - so impersonal, I agree, Josiah would break a man's back and leave him to reflect on how he got to that point in this life."

"Josiah's big on ponderin'." Buck agreed seriously. "Not like Vin."

"Just the opposite, I would think." Ezra agreed. "He would want to practice his sharpshooting technique. How far can one shoot, having a predisposition to do so, Mr. Wilmington?"

"I figure he could pick a man off at 300 yards movin' or still. Whoever they got perched in them mesas that took a shot at you? Vin's got range on him."

"And of course the preeminent Mr. Jackson with his knives…"

"Shut up!" Perkins broke first. He stumbled to get his traction as he made his way toward them. "Shut up!" The man towered over the prisoners sitting on the sand. Buck ignored him and never opened his eyes. Ezra looked up at him with an expression of total innocence.

"Mr. Wilmington, I do believe that there are elements of this little soiree that these men weren't let in on before they hired on."

Bannister sauntered over to stand between his man and the others. "Chris Larabee is nothing compared to the man who's payin' us. You don't cross him."

"But there's only one of him." Buck pointed out as he sat up and began paying more attention to the situation, dusting the silty sand off his shoulders and arms.

"A valid point. While I would consider Mr. Larabee and his compadres, individually and together, are a force to be reckoned with, I question how much of a threat one man could be against what, four? Five of you?"

"He's right." The bear spoke up, not liking to be slighted or his courage questioned.

Moving quickly and grabbing Ezra by his neck, before Bannister could stop him, Perkins growled, "So, what about that money?" He referred back to their earlier conversation.

"I'll take you to it."

The man placed the palm of his left hand over Ezra's wound and leaned into it.

Ezra couldn't hold back the scream that escaped his raw throat. Buck tried to crawl to him and was kicked back by the 'possum. JD lunged to help and was caught up in the grasp of the bear.

"Let up." Bannister ordered.

Perkins held there for a moment then finally let up. "That attitude could prove painful." He purred to Ezra.

Ezra turned suddenly serious. "You intend to abandon us to a slow death in this wasteland. Anything, no matter how painful, that speeds up that end is preferable to the alternative."

"Your friends over there feel the same way?"

"You've done your homework. How much do you think that matters to me?" Ezra didn't look to see the reaction of his friends to this statement. He was betting again. This time he was gambling that the "Boss" wanted them to die in the desert or otherwise they would already be dead. He was also wagering that he and Buck had successfully played on their egos regarding their courage and their greed.

"He's slippery as a slug." Bannister cited, referring to Standish and not willing to return him to town.

"Take the boy with you." Ezra stated flatly.

"No!" JD demanded. He had been enthralled at how Buck and Ezra had manipulated these men and how close they were to getting a chance for one of them to get to town, maybe escape, maybe rescue the others. He was startled and angry when Ezra suggested he be the one to go.

"I'll tell him where the money's hidden. You get it on top of what your boss is paying you." Ezra didn't take the time to respond to the boy.

"Ezra, I don't want to leave you here."

The gambler continued to ignore the youngster. "You let him go after you get the money. He at least gets some chance to get help to us. You've fulfilled your obligation of leaving us here and you will at least double your profit." He had to make it sound like he was still looking out for his own best interests. And he waited to see if they would take the bait.

* * *

A thousand thoughts filtered through Vin's mind as he crossed the street to the saloon. Josiah's talk had done some good, supplied a little perspective. But he was warring with himself over the news he thought to impart. He didn't want to be the source of false hope, but at least they would be doing something. As the former buffalo hunter walked through the swinging doors, he was encouraged to see the others had at least stopped avoiding each other and sat together, although in silence, at the familiar table.

The other three looked up in silent greeting. Josiah slid a chair out with his foot for Vin to join them.

The tracker studied the men. They were lost, at dead ends. No one knew who had kidnapped their friends, there were no ransom demands, no one that any of them had made angry enough lately to do this and they had reached the realization that no pacing, no anger, no riding the territory could change any of that.

Vin took a deep breath, knowing he might be torturing them with false hope and spoke, "I found three sets of two horses that left last night around the time of the fire." The others knew this was leading somewhere and even Chris looked up expectantly. "I don't know why they would split up…"

"They thought they had to? To intentionally throw you off?" Nathan suggested.

"They got more confidence in me than I do." Vin smiled self-deprecatingly.

"When we asked around, no one remembered a lot of activity besides buckboards and the stagecoach last couple of days. That many people leaving on horseback at that time can't be a coincidence." Josiah offered up.

"Should we follow all three? Split up?" Nathan asked, anxious for a course of action.

They all looked to Vin for an answer. Josiah silently willed his young friend to trust himself. _Try_ He thought so hard he was sure the younger man must be able to read his mind. _Try._ _F_ _or yourself. For everyone._

When the tracker spoke there was the slightest hint of an unfamiliar treble. "One track led to the badlands. Ain't likely a man would be goin' out there this time of year lessin' he's up to no good or prospectin'. The other two are on busy paths that'll lose themselves in other travel activity soon enough." He stopped and offered the other side. "But at best we'll only be findin' one of our boys - if I'm right."

"You find him," Chris voice was low. "And whoever is with him will tell us where the others are."

"What if I'm wrong? What if this is our only chance to find them and I'm wrong?" The responsibility never weighed so heavy.

Chris was surprised at the self-doubt. "At least it's a chance." Then he added, "Tracking is more than reading sign. It's knowing your target. It's an instinct. You've got it."

"I got enough of the trail marked. We can leave as soon as the moon's up," Vin offered. It would be easier to follow the stark contrast of night time shadows in the glow of a full moon than to wait until the glaring and less distinct contradictions of sunlight on the hoof prints.

Chris stood and squeezed the tracker's shoulder as he passed. Vin wondered again at how easily words almosst led to hesitation that could have kept them from finding a lead to their friends and possibly topple everything that had become important to him. And he wondered how that single action by one man could give it all back.

Their somber leader disappeared. None of the others were invited in the move. The man needed some time to himself. He bottled too much up inside. This was something Josiah began to sense that the dark gunfighter had in common with the bounty hunter. The ex-preacher was beginning to see that what first appeared to be a sense of inner peace in the younger man was, instead, a way of hiding emotions he was afraid would be perceived as weakness.

The remaining three peacekeepers split up to pack their saddlebags with what they each thought they would find vital.

Sanchez rubbed his big hand over his face and thought about the mask Vin wore to hide the internal turmoil. Did Chris,Vin, Buck and Ezra have any idea how alike they were in their differences? Four different masks, but all for the same purpose.

* * *

Night was falling in purple hues that only could be created along the desert floor. One group of four men debated the fate of the other three who sat nearby.

"And I'm saying to hell with it." The bear demanded.

"He's right. We did the man's job we got paid for. He wanted two of them lawmen out here…"

"He wanted Wilmington and the boy."

"Probably because they were on patrol together - making it easier for us." He rationalized. He wanted the gambler's money.

"How could it matter which ones stay?"

"Think how much money that gambler could have holed back."

"It could be a bluff…"

"He's got our money! And it ain't on him." This seemed to confirm the existence of a hidey-hole to the bear. Bannister glanced uncomfortably over at their prisoners. The glow of greed in his gray eyes gradually turned into a flame.


	6. Chapter 6

"You could go." JD argued. His body shivered involuntarily. It was partially from the chill as darkness set in, partially from the shock caused by the sunburn to his upper body.

"Then they would be expecting subterfuge. We need them off guard to have the best chance of success."

JD took the offensive, "And with me, they'll think it's just some dumb kid riding along like you do."

"We haven't thought that for a long time." Buck assured him, but there was a tiredness in his voice that colored the sincerity.

"I can help." JD turned from the offensive to pleading.

"You are helping. When they look at you JD, let'em see a boy." Buck's voice intensified. "And when they are stupid and let their guard down because of it, you stop 'em. You get away and get Chris or you kill'em. Don't wait for them to draw first. Don't give 'em a chance to surrender. You stay alive, boy. You hear me?"

"Buck could go…" JD repeated. They all knew that Wilmington was suffering from his head wound as well as the blistering sunburn.

Ezra was sitting between JD and Buck. Shirtless, water blisters were beginning to appear on their shoulders. He was sure their backs weren't fairing any better. Salt-burning sweat kept dripping into his eyes as fast as he could rub it out with his shoulder. Gritty sand had somehow worked its way between his skin and waistband. It reminded him of the fairy tale The Princess And The Pea because his attempts to lead a sheltered existence made the sensation singularly uncomfortable.

The entire situation was making the southerner impatient and testy. He turned to speak directly to the young Easterner. "They would watch Buck too closely. JD, please, take a moment - and we only have a moment - to examine this logically. If Mr. Wilmington were to accompany the felons to town, he is too disoriented, and his reflexes too slowed to be effective against them."

"You're hurt, Ezra." JD was hell-bent on arguing.

Ezra leaned into the boy, barely aware of protecting his own wound. "Mr. Dunne, you are very possibly Buck's only chance. He's already weak from his injuries. That sun will leech our strength in short order. It is up to you to get these men back to Four Corners, elude them and return with help. We're trusting you with our lives." JD's eyes slid to where Buck was watching and turned back to meet the gambler's eyes.

"If I accompany them and you remain, Mr. Wilmington will push himself too hard to get you to safety."

"You don't know how he worries about you, Ezra, when you're not around."

Ezra gave him a smile. "Will you trust me to watch out for Mr. Wilmington? While you take care of your responsibility and yourself?"

"Thank you, Ezra."

Buck couldn't hear what was being said. He'd let Ezra play it his way and trust him to get JD out of this. He had almost dozed when a glance down showed him a bluebottle fly had landed on his friend's wounded side. Fighting panic, the gunfighter immediately tried to shoo it away before the Southerner noticed, but it wasn't to be.

At first Ezra simply swatted at the nusincing feel at his side. But suddenly memories erupted, he realized it was the insect and he began slapping at the nasty beast like it was poison. He shifted roughly into JD. The damned creature didn't move fast enough so he would move from it. Even with his hands tied behind him, he tried to swat at the spot. Then immediately and frantically he was trying to twist his arms to swat, not at the fly, but at the barely healed scar along his shoulder blade.

His agitation startled their captors who were on their feet, guns drawn and at the ready. Wide-eyed, JD was looking for the threat. Buck's body responded to the drawn guns and Ezra's panic with an insurgence of "fight or flight" adrenaline. The reaction seemed to help his questionable coordination and, on his knees, hands tied behind him, he got in Ezra's face. "It's gone! Ezra, Pard, it's gone. I saw it light. It was only there a second. Are you hearing me?"

Ezra slowly stilled. He looked into Buck's eyes for the truth. He found it there. Then he shut his own eyes to regroup. Of all the memories that would ever haunt the fine-boned gambler, the maggots, boring into his flesh and the helplessness of that moment in the POW camp, were the ones that would always remind him that there were some things worse than death.

When he finally opened his eyes, he saw that the men who had rallied to the excitement gradually lowered their weapons. But Ezra's memories were still trying to pull themselves from the past. His voice, when he spoke, left no doubt how disturbed he still was, "Gentlemen, make a decision. Now. Or I will make it for you. I will force you to shoot me and my secret will die with me." A bit over reactionary, he had to admit to himself as he calmed down. He had been in worse situations before – especially since he had met one Buck Wilmington, but that day, not so long ago, the sentiment was apprapo. He would die before he lived through that again. So he met Bannister's eyes, allowed some hint of crazed panic to show and defied the leader of their kidnappers.

Bannister's eyes slid from Standish to Wilmington to Dunne. The youngster was worried about what he had witnessed, but was as confused as the others. The seasoned gunfighter had some insight into the strange behavior of the gambler and he was afraid that it wasn't a bluff.

"This better be worth it." Bannister growled as an acknowledgement of the terms.

"You'll let the boy go when you have the money and give him a chance to get us help?" Ezra knew it was a farce, but he had to play up the false optimism for the men to believe his motives.

"That's the terms." Bannister smirked.

Everyone stood in anticipation, finally Ezra commented dryly. "Gentlemen. It would defeat the purpose of this exercise if I were to tell the lad the location of my funds with you in hearing distance, no?"

Taking their lead from Bannister when he finally backed off, the men moved away from the peacekeepers.

"One last thing, Mr. Dunne, there is a Colt .45 to the side of the money. Don't hesitate to use it." This brought a glimmer of hope to JD's brown eyes.

Buck leveled his shoulder into JD to get his full attention and locked eyes as he gave a last order. "You kill'em, boy. You don't give 'em a chance. They won't give you one. You stay alive. You hear me?"

"I don't want to leave and worry about you…"

Buck wished he could pull him forward with one large hand around his neck. Instead, he whispered, "I'm proud of you, Boy."

JD held his eyes wide and blinked several times to dry out the childish, stinging tears that threatened. He won that battle. He couldn't trust himself with words so he nodded as he backed away toward the men who were preparing to leave his friends at the mercy of the sweltering sun.

Bannister suddenly grabbed his upper arm and dragged the boy to the horses. As he turned, JD noticed it. He forced himself to keep from reacting. They hadn't picked up the canteen he had dropped when Ezra was shot.

"I'll be back, Buck. I'll bring help."

"Or maybe we'll just kill him for fun once we got the money." The bear snarled as he towered over Buck and Ezra. For the first time, Ezra noticed the remnants of Union blue on the man's clothes.

"One thing we left out earlier...Larabee and the others? You don't have to worry about any of them. Anything happens to that boy, they won't be able to get to you before I do." Buck's voice was matter-of-fact as if there was so much truth in the statement that it needed no reinforcement through vocal emphasis.

Bannister and the Bear laughed the statement off and mounted their horses. As they rode away, Bannister pulled his Colt and fired a single bullet into the canteen almost hidden behind Buck. With a loud guffaw he led the small band away.

JD could tell both of his friends had been well aware of the canteen and were disillusioned with this loss. JD, hands still bound behind him, held on with his knees as Bannister's men led him and the two spare horses away. He kept turning back to see his friends shrink into the distance _God, this felt so wrong._ Finally his friends were lost to him, swallowed up by the night.

* * *

Josiah knocked perfunctorily before he let himself into Nathan's clinic. His longtime friend barelyglanced up from where he was rolling strips of bandages to take with him, but began speaking as if they had been together all evening. "I figured to take the buckboard. It might slow us down, but Vin following such an old trail... that'll take time in itself."

"We'd best tie their horses behind and carry the tack. If they're able to ride, they'll take our mounts afore they use the wagon." There was something special about the bond forming between seven loners, but there wasn't a more stubborn, hard-headed bunch, either.

Nathan moved over to put some herbs and tinctures in his bag. "I'm thinking I don't know how Buck will react to these tonics. The man can come through without a scratch where everyone else is laid up, then, he gets hisself near killed in that hellhole and don't give himself time to heal before .." He carefully wrapped his few precious instruments and stowed them in the bag. "... And Ezra and JD? Walkin' accidents waiting to happen."

"Nathan…"

"What do I waste my time for? Chris's too private to take help. Vin - he thinks nature can heal him better than I can... he thinks being inside my four walls is punishment…"

"Nathan." Josiah tried to break through. Something was wrong.

"JD's gotta prove how tough he is .. Buck and Ezra afraid to need help - afraid no one will give it!"

Josiah blinked at this surprising insight Nathan kept to himself. He wished he had time to consider the healer's intuition, but by the way he was working himself up, it was his friend who needed help this time. "Nathan!"

"What!?" Nathan turned angry, worked up eyes on his friend. "What about you? Is it penance that makes you rather suffer than let me help you?"

They stared at each other. Brown eyes met blue. Nathan had let his guard down again with the one man he knew would accept him through it. "What's really bothering you?" Josiah asked softly.

"What if I'm not good enough?"

"Where the hell does that come from?" Josiah's voice was tinged with anger. Now Nathan was questioning himself?

Nathan, subdued now, handed him a sheet of paper. Josiah started reading then scanned, although there were only two short paragraphs. Danger to the community... practicing medicine without a license...false hope...illegal…"

"What the hell is this? Where did it come from?"

"Found it on my door."

"We've been through this before." Josiah said softly. "Do you think the people you've healed care if you have a license?"

"It's coming, Josiah, people with more education than me, people who've been schooled... they'll care that I don't know the terms and scientific names…"

"That's true. Because they want to feel they are an elite group. They want to feel that you must go to school, not that you can master your craft through the learning process."

"Progress, civilization. That means you'll have to have a piece of paper that says you know what you're doing."

"People who think they know better and say so in words." Josiah spat. "Do you think the person who penned this can heal? Has your knowledge? Or just an opinion?"

"I gotta be careful. Not to overstep what I know or they'll be right."

"No one can be harder on you than yourself. Don't let words make you second-guess your God-given talent. We have friends who can't afford that right now."

"I just ain't sure." It wasn't lost on Josiah that these were the same words Vin had used. So Josiah decided to use another friend's answer to this same appeal. "To paraphrase our Mr. Larabee, healing is more than medicine and instruments. It's knowing your patient. It's an instinct. You've got it." There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally Josiah'd had enough. "What about you, Nathan? What about how you refuse help when you're hurt?"

"I at least understand the logic of healing properly, giving the injury time to heal."

"Uh-huh."

Then Nathan realized Josiah was speaking of this emotional wound as well as any physical damage. And putting it in that light, he needed to let the hurt from the words heal as well. They had friends to find and save. "Thank you, Josiah." Josiah pulled him into a comforting bear hug that spoke volumes.

The preacher hid the slow anger that was growing inside him with practice he'd perfected since childhood. They needed to get moving, now wasn't the time, but something was niggling at the back of his mind. Written attacks on Nathan and Vin, along with their missing comrades might not be coincidence. But what would be the reason for someone to be moving his friends and their emotions around like pawns on a chess board? Who could have a mind so complicated as to work it all out? What would be the end game? No matter, if he learned all of this was connected, there would come a time and there would be hell to pay.

* * *

"Good God, Mr. Wilmington, the desert runs as hot and cold as many a woman I've met." Ezra drawled as he shivered from the chill that overtook his body. Night fell quickly in the desert. "Is it really freezing out here?"

"It's a might chilly; 'specially with no clouds to hold the heat in. But part of it's brought on by that sunburn." His friend conceded as he twisted his arms about behind his back. He never allowed for the fact that his own skin was just as red and blistered. "How bad are you hurt?" He asked, referring to the bullet wound.

The moon wasn't up yet, and although the sky was clear, there wasn't enough light to see anything but black shadows tinged with blue outlines. Now that he was finally free to take a closer look at his friend's wound, it was too dark to see.

"It stings, but truly it's just gouged out some meat. It'll grow back. More immediately, if you'll maneuver around perhaps we can work on our ropes..." His jaw dropped open as Buck pulled his free hands before him and finished loosening the loops from his left wrist. "Hidden talents?" Ezra asked, duly impressed.

"One of my Ma's lady friends taught me." Buck volunteered casually as he rushed to the shot riddled canteen. He wedged it into the sand at an angle to save as much water as possible. Then he skooched around to start working on Ezra's bonds. He could hear the gears turning in his friend's head. A lady residing in a brothel that good with ropes... "The trick is to tense your muscles right tight while they're puttin' 'em on ya. That's a good start. There's a little more to it."

"Indeed." Ezra seemed to decide whether to continue the discussion and finally changed the subject - for now. "A course of action?"

"I ain't gonna lie to ya, Ezra. We're gonna be hurtin' when that sun comes up." They shared a portion of the precious water. "Our best bet is to make what time we can tonight and hole up at any shade we find during the day."

"I bow to your experience." Ezra forced himself resignedly to his feet and started in the direction the horses had gone.

Buck grabbed his belt loop to stop him then wrapped his long fingers around his scalp to turn the gambler facing 45 degrees from his intended path. He avoided touching any of the aching, irritated skin. "I don't know why they're taking an out of the way path, but if it was to throw us off, they ain't givin' ol' Buck the credit he's due."

Ezra unquestioningly moved in the direction his friend directed.


	7. Chapter 7

I'd like to thank everyone who has taken the time to write and say they enjoy and approve of the changes I've made in this story. As I said, I'm trying to make sure I can tie up all the loose ends in the last story and all of your notes are a great help.

As the morning sun greeted another day, JD Dunne felt surprisingly energized. He hadn't slept in two nights. Although he had been given his hat and shirt so his condition wouldn't get worse and become even more obvious in town, the material of the shirt was rough and stung badly. He'd never noticed it before. Of course it had never rubbed against his tender inflamed skin and ruptured the sickly water blisters on his shoulders and upper back before either.

These men needled him unmercifully on how Buck and Ezra would suffer - the muscle cramps, dizzying nausea, throbbing headaches and weakness that forced a man's body to give up before his mind did. Bannister said a man almost watched himself die. Perkins ruminated almost fondly on how toward the end, even men who knew to go to shade would see mirages so realistic they pulled them from that sanctuary; that slight reprieve.

And then they would laugh at how easy it had been to take three of the so-called "Magnificent Seven".

"Two and a half," the possum amended, trying to get a rise out of JD. _They'll look at you, JD. Let 'em see a boy. And when they're stupid enough and let their guard down, you stop 'em._ JD focused on Buck's words and rode, head down, and tried to look defeated. But JD knew he would kill these men. He would gun them down with the same efficiency as Chris Larabee. These men would never ridicule his friends where anyone else would ever hear it.

He noticed a chaparral race away from them. It had a thin snake in its beak. The creosote bushes were giving way to low grasses; the desert was giving way to plains as the men pulled up.

Bannister took Buck's shirt, covered in dried blood, and Ezra's frilled white linen shirt and tied them to the saddle horn of one of the spare horses. He also put a note there, but didn't offer to tell JD what it said. Then he swatted the horse on the flank to get it on its way. It was one of the livery horses. JD knew it would take those shirts right back to town. Vin would have that trail in no time, but why..?

JD didn't have to speculate. Bannister turned back to his men. "Let that one take a direct route. We'll stop by the water hole at Skinout Plateau and fill the canteens." He paused long enough to pull himself into the saddle. "By the time we work our way to town the other's'll be trying to backtrack the mare. The town will be ours."

"I need Vin to help me get back to Buck and Ezra." JD demanded.

"You'll have to work with what ya got, kid." Perkins smirked. He didn't seem too concerned one way or the other.

JD knew they planned on killing him as soon as they had the money. They had no intention of letting him bring help to the others. Well, he may have learned from Chris Larabee how to hate people who hurt your family, but he had learned from Ezra Standish how to play a mark and let them believe what they wanted. So JD nodded meekly as if accepting that, at least, he would be given a chance to rescue his friends. Oh, he'd get his chance. These men just didn't know it.

Would Chris and the others be out following that horse? It didn't matter.

As they rode, the pinks and oranges in the eastern sky gave way to the cloudless robin's egg blue of the day.

Dawn gave way to mid-morning. The high desert chill gave itself up to the heat.

* * *

Chris rode a little behind Tanner to stay out of the way. It didn't matter. They had long since run out of any legitimate trail to follow.

Now they were heading in the last direction they had - they were following Vin's hunch. But damn it, at least they were doing something.

Josiah shared the buckboard with Nathan. But he had, in fact, brought JD, Ezra and Buck's horses tied to the back. They wouldn't want to ride the wagon if they didn't have to. Besides, leaving with the horses gave hope, no matter how imaginary, to the town that their three missing peacekeepers would soon return.

Josiah was sensitive to the pulse of the town, even more so than Nathan. While the healer focused on their physical health, the preacher centered on the mental well-being of the town. And it was ebbing. They were spoiled having seven men protect the town. There had been more than one set of eyes watching them leave even though it had at such a late hour.

What was the bond between the seven? Josiah wondered, not for the first time. What made the safety of the others so important to the separate individuals? It went beyond friendship. It was as if by saving the group, the individuals were saving the vulnerable, often hidden humanity that had been very nearly lost to each of them before they met.

Why, after many, many years of not needing anyone, did so many of them suddenly need each other? Why did the others, those that all along knew they needed one person to care, share the friendships so willingly? Josiah couldn't answer that for himself. How could he answer it for the others?

His musings were drawn back to the present when Vin pulled his horse to a stop.

A riderless horse was cantering toward them.

They took a moment to evaluate the situation and look for potential danger. But in that space of two breaths, Vin dismounted his own black to approach the mare. She didn't seem skittish, but he wouldn't take chances. Cooing gentling words as he approached, he watched the horse's ears twitch toward him and huge brown eyes roll his direction. She watched the stranger come nearer, but didn't exhibit fear.

The others stayed back to let Vin approach the animal. But as soon as he touched the reins and his mind touched on what was tied to the saddle horn, it was Larabee who reached the shirts first and grabbed them.

small piece of parchment floated to the ground.

Josiah and Nathan walked up as the man in black picked up the paper. They all watched the dark gunslinger's expression cloud over like thunderheads rolling across the plains.

Chris's heart clenched when he saw the bloody shirts tied around the saddle horn.

He recognized the animal as was one of the livery horses, missing since their friends disappeared. But the words on the parchment…

Faster than a snake striking, Chris had his fists wound deep in the lapels of Nathan's jacket. The paper was still crumpled in his fingers. He was nose-to-nose with the tall black man.

The livery horse skittered sideways in an attempt to get away from the startling motions and emotions that came off the man in waves.

Vin fought to settle the horse. Josiah fought to get himself wedged between Chris and Nathan. "This is because of me?" The blond demanded with fear and guilt, "What did they say? Why didn't you tell me?"

Nathan was trying to pry the other man's fingers from his clothes. The anger had taken over. That meant the gunfighter would strike out at the nearest target.

"It's not because of you!" Nathan tried to force the words to penetrate Chris's veil of hate.

Josiah finally pushed Larabee from his friend. "You don't know the men who did this."

"Chris," Nathan offered as an apology, "They said they were hired... never mentioned any names... any clues to who was paying them. If I had thought it would help any by telling you…"

"It's just words, Chris. Words to make you doubt yourself. We can't afford that. Buck and the others can't afford that." Josiah fought to find words that would reach their leader.

Larabee fought for control. His eyes were shades darker with emotion. His body tremored once with the effort to control himself and not strike out at something - anything - anyone. "They're doing this because of me... because Buck's my friend... because JD's…" Seemingly as proof, he shook the parchment at the other men.

"What does it say, Cowboy?" Vin asked, trying to get a sense of what upset his friend. He approached him gently, speaking lowly as he had so recently approached the skittish livery stable mare.

"There's no truth in those words," Nathan insisted.

He didn't know what was on the paper, but he knew what words Bannister and his men had tried to get him to use against their leader back when all this started at the stable fire. It was easy to imagine the same attack was scribbled on the crinkled paper still clutched in Larabee's fist. "Even if it has some facts in it, it's skewed by some man's hatred and pettiness, but it's not the truth." And in saying the words, Nathan realized it was just as true of the letter he had received as it was of the letter now crumpled in the gunslinger's hand.

Josiah met Nathan's eyes and read the understanding there. And realized it also extended to the written attack on Vin, _Facts, maybe, skewed by hatred and pettiness, but not the truth_

"I can follow these fresh tracks right back." Vin offered to diffuse the situation. "They've made a mistake, Chris."

"Or they know we're too late? That it doesn't matter, there's nothing we can do!"Larabee lashed out. The thought scared him to death and he didn't know how to react to a fear that wouldn't let itself be disguised as anger. He stared at the men with him, stared out into the barren wasteland and suddenly strode over and remounted, not waiting for the others.

There was no apology, no release from his emotions. Tanner was right. However this played out, even he could follow this horse's path. They would find the men who did this.

Shockingly, the leader of the peacekeepers, suddenly realized his thoughts were of finding and punishing their attackers, as if it were too late to save their friends. This thought, the fatalism of what it meant, had him spurring his horse faster.

Vin handed the livery horse's reins to Josiah. "We'll keep you in sight."

The others nodded. They knew when Larabee was driven he couldn't be controlled. Only one of the two people who could steer him was present. He mounted his own mustang without wasting time with the stirrups and loped after his friend.

Nathan and Josiah returned to the wagon and followed at the slower pace it demanded.


	8. Chapter 8

Ezra plodded along after Buck. The sun was unfortunately well on it's path across the sky. They hadn't come upon any shade. No outcropping, no trees, nothing. So they kept moving.

As Ezra had predicted, the heat that broiled off of the white sand burned through his boot soles. The sun beat down mercilessly on his sunburn and blisters. He could concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other or he could concentrate on the pain. There was nothing else.

Neither of them was doing much more than staggering forward. They were weaving to a degree that the footprints behind him brought to mind a sidewinder. His mouth was dry and his tongue, that felt swollen twice it's size, stuck to the roof of his mouth. And Buck…

At that moment the other man cried out in pain and twisted at an awkward angle as he fell to the ground. The damaged canteen fell from his hands and rolled. With a sound as close to a sob as he knew he would ever hear from the dark-haired gunfighter, Ezra watched him scramble over to retrieve the canteen.

Buck got his hands on the canteen and held it like a baby. The bandages and splints on the left hand were ragged and useless. The big man was not being nearly as careful of the injury as he should. "nonononono ..." It was like a chant.

With his forward momentum stopped, Standish fell to his knees in exhaustion. Somewhere he found the strength to crawl over to the other man. He started to put a comforting hand on a shoulder. A look at the angry red skin stopped him. Instead he lowered the compassionate touch to the lanky gunman's leg.

"I'm sorry, Ezra, I'm sorry."

Ezra gently took the canteen, "Mr. Wilmington, this has been empty for some time." Wilmington still looked devastated at his lapse.

"Look," Ezra added calmly, logically, "There is no liquid where the canteen fell." His friend looked over and seemed to relax when it appeared he was not guilty of wasting the precious water.

"What happened?" Ezra asked to move the topic away from the water.

Buck looked up but didn't seem to be focusing. The fine sand stuck to his face, the dried blood and hair and worked its way into the open blisters. The gambler was surprised at how thin the man was despite his height and frame. "Buck!" This got the other man's attention. "Did you turn your ankle?"

"What? Oh, no, no. Charlie Horse." He seemed to remember the pain and massaged his right calf. "Damn."

"Are you going to be able to continue?"

"That's the only choice we got."

"I must confess, I am having trouble with this fighting Mother Nature."

"Ain't fightin' nature, Ezra. You're fightin' yourself. Makin' yourself keep goin' when you want to stop."

Ezra thought about what had been said. Resigning himself to the battle, he conceded with self-depreciating sarcasm, "I fear you have more experience at that than I do."

Buck swiped at the sweat and sand on his forehead. "Not a chance, Pard," Buck finally whispered. "But your secret's safe with me." He smiled weakly. Ezra looked a little taken aback by the words, but he smiled, too.

Buck looked at the scattering of boulders he'd been leading them toward since sunup. "We can't rest. We gotta move. It's not much further."

Ezra simply nodded.

Buck took hold of the underside of Ezra's arm to help him to his feet. He ended up using the hold for them to leverage each other up.

"Buck, look, water."

Buck winced and followed his friend's eyes. The wavy liquid was there to see. "Mirage. Let's go."

"No. It's real."

"Ezra, we're going to those boulders and find some shade and wait until dark. Then we're headin' out again. No strayin' after somethin' that ain't there." _The story of my life._ Flashed through the gambler's mind... _Straying after something that isn't there._ "But…"

Buck kept his grip on his friend and started walking. He was too weak to argue.

The thought of abandoning the water empowered Ezra; gave him strength to fight to go that direction. He was ready to protest, physically, if necessary. Until suddenly he realized how arid the other man's skin was.

Ezra's own skin was red, hot and clammy. The other man was looking at him, but again, his eyes didn't seem to focus. The pupils were dilated. What worried the gambler the most was that the other man's skin had gone beyond blistered and burned to dry and crepe; as if there was no moisture left. Not a good sign. Damn, they were a pair. Again.

Wilmington looked like he was staying up on sheer willpower. Ezra looked around, wishing he'd see their friends coming out of the same damn wavy reflection as the water. All five of them riding... no, four. Only four could possible ride out of the mirage. That made him think of JD. _Aw, hell_ He had promised to watch out for Buck. He would go with Mr. Wilmington and get him settled in the shade and then come back for the water he was sure was real.

They plodded toward the shade. Their feet slid across the ground that was becoming more hard-packed and plated than sandy. They were both too tired and too weak to lift their legs. No, it didn't seem anyone was riding to their aid this time. As far as the eye could see, nothing. The empty canteen lay abandoned behind them.

* * *

Chris Larabee was lost in dark and morose thoughts; the scrap of paper still crumpled in his fist, even as he rode into the desert.

The dark gunfighter couldn't put into words how he felt every time he realized over again and again that Wilmington was absent from his right side. That led to the realization that he had always expected Buck to be there. And it brought a pain-filled insight into himself, a grief that stretched back to who he was before and after Sarah and Adam had died. Even those few times he would look around and realize he had chased the man away; chased away his own humanity and conscience; he expected him to show up again because of a bond forged through war and peace, the good times and the bad. Was that all in the past? Had he truly driven away the man who was always there to watch his back - ironically even as they shared the same town for the first time in months, had they gone their separate ways? And he, Chris Larabee, so worldly, so observant, hadn't even noticed they were no longer the friends they had been? Why, otherwise, did these men who didn't even know them think it would hurt the surprisingly gentle ladies' man more to watch a wet-behind-the-ears kid and a crooked gambler die than for the two war-bonded comrades to be together at the end. Damn them to hell.

The Kid. Reminded him of that trail song, "Little Joe The Wrangler"; tried so hard it killed him. The Gambler. Tried so hard to hide so much. Why did he try to hide all the good? And Larabee wondered why he himself was asking the questions or even cared.

Maybe, Larabee thought, he was learning to be his own humanity again, his own conscience, thanks to Buck and Vin, but now... He quickly shut down on the train of thought, but not as quickly as he usually would have caught himself going down that path. His mind had wandered to places he never wanted to go. He was very good at shutting a thought process down, denying point "A" from leading to point "B", even after they'd once got started. He leaned further over his horse's neck and urged it forward.

Chris rode on with narrow-minded determination. He finally had a course of action to help him distance himself from those unwanted thoughts. He almost didn't register Vin calling his name. He glanced back, then pulled up. Vin was thirty yards behind him leaning over and looking at the ground. The buckboard was coming up much further behind the tracker.

The gunfighter wheeled his horse and trotted back. "What have you got?"

Vin glanced one way then the other. The wind was shuffling his hair. Chris hadn't even noticed it before, but it was coming up and it was past breeze on its way to a real blow. It would quickly conceal any signs that existed. He dismounted to stand beside the man who had become his second conscience and lifesaver even if he wouldn't admit it.

"They stopped here to let that horse go." Vin stated.

"They? Who they?" Josiah tried to get clarification as he and Nathan approached.

Vin ignored the question. "Six or seven horses, Chris." But he was hesitant about something.

"Spit it out, damn it."

"Ezra, Buck and JD. Four kidnappers." Vin moved off of his horse as he spoke. He lay down on the ground. At eye level the shadows cast by the shallow hoof prints were more pronounced. He studied the tracks. Chris fought to keep quiet and be patient; let the man work. "The one horse we've got? All of the other horses but one are carrying weight."

Nathan did the math and got it first. "Two empty saddle horses. One of our men is still with them."

They were all silent for a heartbeat. The ramifications were endless. Where two dead? Why keep one... "The shirts belonged to Buck and Ezra." The healer offered up. It didn't explain anything, just a statement of fact.

"Not two hours ahead of us." Vin volunteered referring to the horses and riders who had left the tracks. "Not trying to make time." He added, not trying to speculate on the whys of the situation.

Chris was striding back to his horse. "Nathan, you and Josiah head on into the desert. Vin and I are going to bring back... whoever they have with them."

Nathan and Josiah both looked at Vin. He vacillated. Chris was already mounted. "Can you follow the tracks?" The tracker asked of the other two, and was referring to the trail that led into the desert.

"Seven horses from now on? Yeah, Brother, we'll find them." No one wanted to speculate what they would find.

"Hurry. We're all fightin' the weather blowin' in." Vin didn't elaborate as he swung into his saddle and spurred after Chris.

Josiah turned to the healer, "I'm thinking to take Buck's gray and move out before the trail's lost." He was referencing the fact that the wind building up could easily erase any sign. "Then I can leave clearer sign - lead you in."

"Go." Nathan stated as an acknowledgement of the logic. He looked into the desert. The dark silhouettes he saw circling on the air currents sent a chill down his spine. He didn't care what Josiah said. There were birds worse than crows.

Buzzards

* * *

Ezra collapsed to the ground as soon as they reached the shade. The wind was like the breath of hell and had robbed them of any cooling perspiration. Buck made it far enough to prop himself up against the largest boulder. And they lay there, taking fast, shallow breaths.

Buck had another cramp, this time deep in his belly and it didn't seem to want to go away. It was always strange how the chills overtook his body from a bad sunburn. And tired, so tired... His arms already had some protective tan, but his chest and shoulders hadn't seen enough sun to protect them from this solar attack. He noticed that all of Ezra's body was a solid fiery red. But underneath the burn the gambler was pale and clammy.

Ezra didn't want to move. He had a throbbing headache that threatened to remove his scalp from the rest of his head. He was dizzy and nauseous even though there was nothing in his stomach to lose. He didn't want to move.

"Yeah," Buck sighed, "Chris didn't set out to be this way. JD wants to be Chris Larabee." It was a combination of delirium and saying out loud the conversation he'd been having in his mind with himself. Even now, he didn't seem aware he'd spoken outloud.

Ezra didn't need to have been a part of the mental dialogue that had gone on in the other man's mind. He understood every word. He thought back on the things the two of them had been through together.

Ezra knew the many responsibilities the older man put on himself even when no one else did. Buck knew Ezra knew. It caused a strange distance between them - not when Buck tried to comfort or reassure Ezra of his self-worth, but only when Ezra tried to return the favor; tried get the lady's man to open up. That one didn't know how to talk about his feelings. He only thought people would like him, wanted him around when he was happy, fun and helpful. What kind of childhood made him feel his self-worth only in the happiness of others?

And how, of all people, had he latched onto Chris Larabee as a gauge for how well he was accomplishing his goals? In doing so was he unconsciously setting himself up for failure? No. Ezra knew that Buck meant something to Larabee, but of all people who couldn't show it... no matter. Ezra stopped that train of thought and became even more determined to show the man that people who knew him... scars, warts, ghosts and all... still admired what they saw.

He wanted to give Buck the security of that feeling that, in fact, Buck had already given the pleasantly surprised conman. Besides, he rationalized, it gave him something to think about beyond his current misery.

"Sometimes I have difficulty in identifying the qualities that would keep you loyal to a man like Mr. Larabee all these years." Offered in response to the earlier mumbled words.

Ezra realized he may have pushed as far as he was going to be allowed this time. He was answered with silence. Enough time passed that Ezra began to think he wouldn't get an answer. He was surprised when Buck spoke. "Zach Monahans."

"Sir?"

"That's who you sound like when you say those things about Chris. Zach taught me to ride, shoot, hunt... and says he thought he taught me better than to ride with the likes of Chris Larabee."

"Not a fan of our legendary leader?"

"Shut up and rest."

Ezra blinked. Two father figures. Yep, Buck Wilmington hid a lot. Ezra knew about hiding one's past and reaction to it. He would let it drop. "God, Mr. Wilmington, how can I rest covered in sand and currently under the assumption that I would have to die to feel better?"

Buck didn't move his head from where it rested against the granite or open his eyes. "When we get back, we're goin' fishin'. In a snow fed river that's so clear in spots you can pick the one you want to catch. There'll be pecan trees so big their shade lowers the temperature ten degrees when you're under 'em. Think about that. You can almost feel the breeze. This time of year the Confederate Jasmine has the whole riverbank smellin' like some fancy society lady's garden party. Can you hear the water over the rocks? Mockingbirds and song sparrows. Think on it hard enough, you can go there in them thoughts, go where the hurt ain't... the squirrels fussin' at ya for invadin'..." He felt the smaller man's head slump against his shoulder. "That's right, Ezra, go where there ain't no pain." The lanky gunfighter knew he was alone now and added, "I'll haunt ole Chris 'til he buries us in that river, Pard."

A shadow passed over Buck's eyes, like a cloud scudding quickly in front of the sun. There and gone. He cracked open a swollen eye enough to see that not a single white puff textured the light blue sky. But there had been a shadow. He licked at his lips, but there was no moisture. His tongue caught on the deep cracks that made his lips look as plated and broken and dusty as the barren, waterless desert floor.

When he thought he heard a horse's hooves, he was too tired to open his eyes again. They were moving away anyhow. His exhaustion-slowed thoughts never recalled the mystery man who had shot Ezra from this outcropping or wondered if the horse might be connected to that man.


	9. Chapter 9

Josiah had wanted to ride out with Larabee and Tanner. He had wanted to be the one to exact vengeance for the pain inflicted, mentally and physically, on his friends. But he was not willing to face his own guilt if he rode after revenge rather than doing everything he could to save those who had been left in the desert. And, in a way to that end, the decision to accompany Nathan had been a selfish one. He wanted to be nearby if his friend needed reassurance again from the earlier vicious verbal attack.

So, as usual, Josiah Sanchez would abide by Larabee's directions, not because he felt obligated, or out of fear or respect or even the belief that the man's plans were the right ones.

Especially when he was driven, the gunfighter could make mistakes. No, Josiah Sanchez complied for the same reason he did anything. It suited him. And there was something else. The thought was beginning to form in his mind that there was much more to this than a mere kidnapping or revenge.

He made the decision because it suited him. Just like it suited him to think of the others as friends, not family. JD needed family, not him. His family wasn't close. His family caused pain. His family caused confusion, a loss of balance. He'd thought once about it, that he might consider these men his family - family the way it should be. He thought about it long and hard one night, aided in his insight by the whiskey. But he had clearly decided 'no'. They were his brothers as in the 'Family of Man', but on a personal level they were his friends. He'd found them, chosen them, worked at it and earned the friendship. It was something he couldn't imagine a family could give him.

So, there would be time later to deal with whatever Larabee and Tanner left of the men who had done this. For now he would help his friends, but later... Josiah did not believe the adage 'What goes around, comes around' - not without mortal intervention. But he believed the tenet should be true and helped it along anytime he could.

If Larabee and Tanner left any of the men alive, Sanchez would see to it that they would find themselves abandoned in the middle of the desert. And not Chris Larabee or Nathan Jackson, not anger or reason, would stop him.

What goes around comes around wasn't from the Bible. Josiah was very much afraid, from his past experience, God's sense of justice was on a much higher plane. And yet he prayed. He prayed for it to be in His interest to see over their three wayward companions and bring them to safety. At least give the rest of seven a chance to find their missing comrades in time... a chance to help them.

Just a chance.

He knew what these men could do given the smallest chance. He prayed, but, as was so often lately, he was afraid of the prayer. Because, what if the answer was no? He had actually begun to find some reconciliation between his father's religion and all the other religions... it had been at such a great cost... if this prayer wasn't answered…

 _What was that?_

Something glinted in the sun. It brought the disillusioned preacher back to his surroundings. The wind was up even more. Fine sand, a harbinger of the approaching storm, stung his face and neck. The land was so flat that he could see a fine ribbon of brown separating the horizon from the sky. He was seeing the dust storm roiling down.

Then the flash came again. It was to his right... toward a small stand of rock. Buck would try to make it to shelter if possible. Josiah knew that. Despite the knowledge, he started to continue to follow the trail that had been left by the enemy. He was afraid to veer in the direction of the shade for fear that his friends had not been able to travel that far and to veer off the mark in the coming storm could result in losing the trail they were following.

But nothing that big, natural to the desert, would reflect the sun like that.

By the time these thoughts had processed, Josiah had already kneed his horse close enough to recognize the source of the reflection.

A canteen.

It had a bullet hole in it, but damn it, it was a canteen. And two sets of footprints led from it toward the rocks. He could still see Nathan and the wagon in the far distance. That meant Nathan could see him. He headed his horse for the outcropping.

 _Thank you, Lord._ The answer had been yes.

* * *

Perkins had just filled his canteen and stood up to scan the horizon. At first he thought what he saw was a buzzard low on the horizon. Then, elongated and distorted by the liquidy heat waves rising from the desert floor, he thought it might be a mirage.

But when a second figure on horseback crested the slight rise, silhouetted in the afternoon sun, he realized two avenging angels were bearing down on them. He realized the horsemen were very close. And he realized he and his partners were in trouble. "Blake!"

The tension in his voice had Bannister quickly scanning the landscape for danger. He and the other two saw what had Perkins distressed at the same time.

JD didn't know why they had blindfolded him. But with nothing to see, he had turned inside himself and was lost in thought. He was worried about his friends in the desert and Nathan who they had left injured.

He ran through his mind different ways it could play out in Ezra's room when he got his hand on the gambler's hidden gun. He didn't even hear Perkins' worried voice. The first thing he knew, he was startled out of his reverie by two sets of rough hands grabbing him and unceremoniously throwing him into a saddle. He held on as best his roped hands would allow as the horse was jolted from a standstill to a gallop.

The men were silent in their flight and it was unnerving to the boy. The sounds of the horses and leather squeaking on leather, the jingle of reins was all he could hear. What he did know was that wherever these men were this anxious to get to, he wanted no part of it. So JD used every trick he could think of or any he thought might work to slow them down.

Bannister dared a glance over his shoulder. The two men following them were close enough to be identified.

Larabee and Tanner.

Damn and double damn. The Boss had carefully schooled them on these seven men and how he thought they would each react in given situations. The Boss had wanted his men to observe and make sure they reacted as was predicted. But that son-of-a-bitch had told them that there was no way they would catch up to them in the desert.

Yet here they were. Tanner and Larabee. Deadly aim, long distance aim, willingness to kill. Damn. They might hesitate to shoot for a time, worried they would hit the kid, but eventually…

Bannister made his decision. Somehow the peacekeepers were closing in. On the run he loosened one boot from a stirrup and jammed it into JD's chest.

Unsuspecting of the attack, the boy rolled backwards over the mare's rump. But only one foot cleared its stirrup. Barely registering what was happening, he found himself dragged behind the racing horse, helpless with his hands tied and eyes covered, he felt this must be some entertainment for the outlaws. He raised his arms and tried to protect his head as best he could.

Chris was riding low over his gelding's neck. They had been lucky to stalk the enemy as far as they had, but now with them in sight, like a cougar on the hunt, he was determined to run this prey to the ground.

When Chris saw JD dislodged, his first response was to let Vin stop the boy's horse and tend to him. Larabee wanted those men. Suddenly it hit him, more of an emotion than a crystallized thought, but Buck wasn't here to protect the Kid and would be pissed if... the space, the time that separated Larabee from Tanner's horse, the space of a heartbeat, could add to serious injury for the boy. The thoughts translated into the slightest of mixed signals to Larabee's black. That, in combination with the gelding's exhaustion, caused him to give a quick staggering stutter step before he regained his footing again and tried to obey his master's directions.

But the stumble seem to release Larabee from his focus on revenge. His horse was giving all he could and then some, but he was spent. The horses those men rode were fresh.

Larabee pulled up and wheeled smoothly around to help Vin stop JD's horse.

JD could tell by the abruptness of the stop that someone was controlling the horse now. He was struggling to rub the blindfold away from his eyes, sit up, and free his boot all at the same time. Nothing was getting accomplished. Before he got enough composure to take one thing at a time, he felt strong hands on his shoulders. He immediately began to struggle, which served to agitate the skittish horse, and it threatened to take off again.

"Be still, JD."

"Vin?" His voice was heavy with relief.

The tracker pulled the blindfold away from the boy's eyes. JD had to blink quickly as his eyes adjusted to the sudden re-acquaintance with the brilliant, unforgiving sunlight.

The tracker freed his friend's ankle from the stirrup before he moved back and cut the ropes from his wrists.

"Are you all right?" The bounty hunter asked. He bent down to try to get a glance at the boy's eyes. The boy's eyes couldn't hide the truth; they told everything. But now those eyes were lowered and hidden behind the dark bangs that were covered in a light dusty sand. "JD, look at me."

JD lightly put a hand on his friend's chest as if needing physical proof he was real. But he did finally raise his eyes to look around. Chris had stepped up behind Tanner and JD's eyes brightened at the sight, but he kept searching.

"They're gone." Vin offered.

Memories erupted, "Buck and Ezra!"

"Nathan and Josiah have gone after them…"

"Nathan's okay?"

"He's fine. Worried about you."

JD pushed the hair back from his eyes and behind one ear, a gesture the observant tracker had come to recognize as something the boy did before he moved in a hurry. "We gotta…"

"Get you cleaned up and seen to." Tanner kept a hand on his shoulder so he couldn't rise. Larabee handed Vin a canteen and he in turn gave it to the boy who took it thankfully and greedily.

"I ain't hurt..."

Vin took the canteen and poured the water over the boy's head. "Vin you can't waste that!" JD pulled back.

"We got plenty. We need to get your body temperature down."

"Please, Vin...Chris..." He was anxious to go. He forced himself to his feet. "Buck and Ezra don't have water!"

"Me and Vin gotta rest our horses." It was the first thing the gunfighter had said. He had the reins of all three horses in his hands. The two blacks were lathered, breathing hard and dancing and pawing the ground. JD could tell they smelled the small water source in the Skinout beside them.

The poor animals were desperate for water. JD nodded. And with that decision his mind registered the pain his body was in. His knees almost gave out in response. Vin was there to catch him and help him up the rocky incline.

It was one of the mysteries of nature that an underground spring fed into this giant bowl-like structure in the middle of the desert while the flatlands for miles around were starving for even a drop of moisture.

Larabee took on the care of the horses and let Vin tend to the boy. He walked them, controlled the water so they wouldn't flounder, even brushed some of the dried lather and grit from their coats.

He listened to Tanner gently coax the story out of their youngest member. Yes, Buck and Ezra had been alive the last time he saw them. Chris and Vin shared a quick expression of relief and the tension ratcheted down a notch. But not for long after JD described the injuries sustained by the two and how they had been left vulnerable to the desert.

Vin was glad to see that the sunburn was the worst injury the boy had to be concerned about. The cuts and scrapes caused by being dragged by the horse were thankfully minor. The tracker checked and cleaned each one carefully as he listened to the youngster's story.

"I'm sorry, Vin." JD offered at last, "They kept me blindfolded. I don't know how long we rode, or direction or ..." He kept throwing quick worried glances at their sullen leader who stomped back and forth tending to the horses. Vin had to force him to remember to drink the tepid water.

"That's my job, Kid. I'll find 'em." He didn't miss the way JD watched Chris. "You did good. Didn't he, Chris?" The inflection of his voice went unnoticed by the young sheriff, but it was like a splash of cold water in the face of the gunfighter.

He had ignored JD, being so preoccupied with the situation. He had busied himself with the horses to avoid the emotions JD and his story threatened to bring forth. Because of it the boy thought he'd done something wrong; thought he'd failed his friends. Larabee was again reminded of the strength of a single word.

Chris squatted down in front of his friends and gently double-checked the cuts and long scrapes Vin had cleaned. "You did real good, Kid." He was rewarded with a small, proud smile. There was still worry, but the tension ratcheted down again.

Between his anxiety and finally feeling safe under the protection of two of his heroes, JD could no longer fight off the sleep that forced itself on him. Chris watched him concentrate on forcing his eyelids open the last two times before exhaustion finally won and sleep came. For a flash it took Chris back to Adam fighting his bedtime with everything he had. Usually it was because Buck was telling one of his outlandish stories... how the polecat got his stripe or the bear lost his tail. Larabee clamped down on the memories of Adam and Buck or anything that could hurt too much.

When the boy finally dozed, Larabee took advantage of the high ground to check out the desert to the northwest. Then Vin was beside him.

The wind whipped back the wide brims of their hats. Tiny pinpricks of sand hit their faces. Chris squinted and studied the same ribbon of brown separating the horizon and the sky that had concerned Josiah.

"We still got four hours, maybe five." Vin tried to offer reassurance in the arrival time of the sandstorm.

"But it's coming." Larabee knew the horses had to drink and rest. He knew they had to take care of JD. All he could do was wait and wonder if Josiah and Nathan would find the others before the sand came in.


	10. Chapter 10

Nathan Jackson was so frustrated he wanted to shoot something. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs in pure anger. There was too much that needed to be done. It all needed to be done first. None of it was getting done and the trials were piling up, one on top of the other.

When he'd finally come upon Josiah and their fallen friends, the relief that washed over him was immeasurable. He could tell by the way Josiah was leaning over them that they had to be alive.

The Preacher was trying to revive them and get water down them. Had that only been thirty minutes ago? Seemed like a lifetime.

Their friends needed attention badly. The best they'd done so far was tie bandanas around their mouths and noses to keep them from choking on the damnable sand.

They needed shelter. The horses needed shelter. And there wasn't any.

The sand storm was coming in now full force. Sustained winds of thirty miles per hour impaled them with the minute grains of sand. It felt like hundreds of tiny needles pricking the skin. It whipped their coats. Their hats had long since fallen to their backs held there by the chin straps.

Nathan tried to come up with a course of action. They could lay the wagon on its side, perpendicular to the largest ridge on the outcropping and form some semblance of a windbreak. But the horses were tied to the wagon.

They could give the horses some shelter, but there were no tie downs. If they lost the horses they would be in the same shape as Buck and Ezra. And he needed to be trying to get water into those two and lowering their body temperatures. They couldn't move those two to the more protected side of the outcropping until they had the wagon tipped and were sure it wouldn't topple over on them. Two people couldn't do it. But they had to try.

Josiah was trying to tip the wagon. What little help Nathan was able to offer was next to useless. He had one hand and shoulder against the wagon wall, but in his other hand he was trying to control the reins of four frightened horses.

It was hopeless. And Nathan wanted to scream defiance at whoever set this in motion; whoever let them get this far and fail.

Then he felt a gentle, reassuring pat on his shoulder, sensed rather than saw through the dust that it was Vin there, taking the reins and passing them over to JD.

The boy had a way with animals. He adeptly controlled the four skittish animals for all their size in addition to the three he, Vin and Chris had ridden up on.

Then Vin and Chris added their strength to turning the wagon. Once it was settled they tied the horses to one end. The tall rocks supplied all the cover they would need.

Quickly they bundled up the unconscious Ezra and Buck and moved them to the makeshift shelter on the bed side of the overturned wagon.

They distributed the extra blankets Nathan had brought and the bedrolls. They tented them over their upper bodies for whatever added protection that could afford.

Chris cradled Wilmington under one blanket. Nathan got the feeling that the gunslinger, ever fighting to control his emotions, had not allowed himself to register the damage done to his friend.

Josiah continued his attempts to trickle water squeezed from a cloth past the unconscious gambler's cracked and chapped lips

Between them, Vin held the blankets over himself and JD. The boy had folded in on himself physically and mentally at the glance he got of his friends and their condition. His head rested on his knees. His knees were pulled tightly to his chest and his arms were wrapped around his legs.

As much as Nathan was drawn to the boy, to check his condition, he knew Ezra and Buck needed his attention first.

Vin wished desperately that he could find the words to ease the young sheriff's guilt and fears. Any words needed now would lose their effect shouted over the roar of the wind.

Unbidden the attack on his poetry came back to him. How had he thought to write poetry where each descriptive word must mean so much? _Because, Tanner, you know what words are important._ He told himself and force away the doubts. _And you know when words aren't important._ Vin wrapped an arm around JD's shoulders lightly. He knew the sunburn might not be registering now in light of all else going on, but it would.

He pulled the young man closer until the straggly, dust coated head rested on his shoulder. The boy reached over and took a handful of Vin's shirt as a lifeline and relaxed ever so slightly.

Nathan couldn't sit still. The storm was stealing precious time from his injured friends.

Had it been less than two days since this nightmare started?

He moved to the covers that housed Chris and Buck first when he heard angry shouting coming from their leader.

Slipping under the blankets and adding his hands to holding it in even more of a tent shape, Nathan was startled to see Chris desperately, almost angrily trying to rouse Buck. Fearing the worst, Nathan quickly confirmed to himself that the lanky ladies' man was still breathing. "Chris, use the water, cool his body down. Let him sleep through this."

"You gotta tell Buck you're here." The man in black growled. "Nathan, you've always got to let Buck know you came for him, no matter how much you think he should sleep." It was a prescription the healer understood he was being told he must follow in any similar situation. He nodded.

Chris tried to keep his voice indifferent but there was a touch of regret there that his friend would believe he would be abandoned. Gradually Nathan began to wonder what Larabee saw when he looked behind the easygoing façade Buck put forth for the rest of them.

Nathan studied the men. Like a knife into an onion, fate had cut through Buck Wilmington and Chris Larabee and given the others this glimpse at the men they thought they knew. You couldn't see what was there... it was only a slit, it didn't tear away any of the outer skin... but it hinted at the layers of complexity hidden safely beneath the easy smile of one and the fearsome silence of the other.

Nathan was surprised when he glanced over and saw that Ezra was awake and the look in the green, blood shot eyes as he watched Nathan try to tend to Buck past Larabee. He seemed both fascinated and angered by this interaction. Well, hell, at least the damn Southerner was conscious.

Now if only Wilmington would show some consciousness. ' _I'll be damned'_ Nathan had doubted that the lanky lady charmer would have responded to anyone's call, but by damn, he opened his eyes for his old friend.

The blankets billowed and slapped into them at the will of the angry wind. Their arms were going to get tired.

"We're here, Pard. Buck, we've come for you."

Chris grimaced. He hated that first look of surprised gratitude each time as the situation registered and the memories filtered back and Wilmington finally realized someone had bothered to look for him. Damn, Larabee hated that look. And he hated Zach Monahans who he blamed for putting it there.

Why couldn't the bastard believe people cared enough... Chris broke off from his own memories and anger when he realized his friend's mouth was too dry and swollen to speak, but he was worried about the others... "Ezra's fine. Right over there. Josiah's with him." Buck tried to speak. Larabee worked to get a few drops of water down his throat. It seemed too swollen to accept the gift. The liquid ran down his lips that were so dry they didn't absorb the moisture, either.

The gunslinger watched his friend's eyes, then responded to the question he saw there. "We found JD, too."

Chris watched the dry, bloodshot, grit scratched, swollen eyes, that were barely a foot from his own under the makeshift shelter. It didn't look like Buck was able to see much further than that. "The boy is good, he's okay." Larabee insisted by force of will that his friend believe him. And he did. He could tell because his long time friend relaxed slightly but not completely.

The wind squalled and popped the cloth in on them. Buck's eyes didn't blink. They were still questioning. Larabee's arm snaked past Nathan and grabbed JD from under the blanket next to him. For a brief moment they were all exposed to the fury of the storm. The sand adhered to the angles of their cheeks and brows and turned to mud where the water they had tried to give out was drying on their faces.

So what was it? Nathan wondered. Was Larabee the psychic one? Or were all the special friendships the man forged so strong that they could communicate on an unspoken level? However it worked, the gunfighter knew what his friend was trying to ask.

Vin scooted over to allow the blanket to follow JD. Larabee pulled JD up to Buck's face.

Worried at first when he saw Buck resting against their leader's shoulder, relief washed over the youngest of the seven when he saw his mentor's eyes open and searching his.

Weakly Buck reached up and touched the boy's cheek. Vin wondered if that was a trait they shared or JD had picked it up from Buck - the need to touch before he could believe something or someone was real.

JD grabbed the hand in both of his and held on. Reassured, Buck sank back against the security that was Chris Larabee and into unconsciousness. JD wasn't letting go of the hand, but leaned against the granite wall and shut his eyes. They weren't being separated.

The mid day light was rapidly turning dark soley from of the storm surrounding them.

The bedrolls tented over all of the men increased the darkness. But even in the dimness, Nathan saw Larabee smirk as he supported most of the weight of the two friends now sleeping between the others. He saw Vin's eyes dance at the pretended resignation of the situation which didn't begin to conceal the relief and contentment the somber gunfighter would never verbally express.

Chris and Vin clasped hands full the blankets as a means of enlarging the shelter. They leaned their arms over the other two to rest against the rock face for some support. They bent their knees and stomped down on the tails of the blankets. The lean-to they formed had plenty of room.

Satisfied here for now, Nathan moved over to check on their shepherd and lost lamb.

While the frosted green eyes weren't as focused as the healer would have liked, they were open and alert enough to follow him as he sidled under their protective blankets. Was there even a hint of annoyance in those green eyes, that he had allowed a few seconds of the sandstorm to filter in as he changed his position? Nathan smiled at the gambler who came up with a weak smile in return.

"Mr. ... Sanchez ... says ... others..." The voice was painfully raspy.

"Restin' like you should be."

"In ... hosp ...ita ...ble envir ...onment ..." Ezra explained as the reason he could not rest.

Josiah laughed at the response. Nathan smiled his answer, "Best rest while you can. You come around enough to feel that sunburn, you're gonna know what inhospitable environment really feels like." That got a grimace.

The healer was glad to see that this Southern gentleman was sucking on the clean cloth Josiah retrieved from the medical supplies and getting much needed fluid in his system. When the big man brought the cloth back up to his mouth again, the gambler swatted it away and reached for the canteen.

"Nope." Nathan broke in. "Too much too fast, you'll get sick. This ain't the time or place to go spewin' whatever's in your belly."

Taking in their barely 3x10 cocoon that housed seven grown men, he had to agree and accepted the cloth.

Nathan reached around to feel of the smaller man's wound that he'd glanced earlier and JD had told him about. He was concerned about how dry the skin was. "You got a fever in that graze. It might try to get infected."

"Whole body's on fire. How can you tell?" Josiah asked.

"There's a difference." Nathan assured him. Then spoke to Standish, "We'll take care of you, though. Think you can rest until the storm passes?" But the gambler was already asleep.

Nathan took Josiah's hand and led him in Chris's and Vin's example of the best way to hold the tent. They settled in for the duration.


	11. Chapter 11

Inez Recillos glanced up quickly when they blew through the bat wing doors. They were four men moving as one. The smile growing on her lips faded when she realized these were strangers without the same dynamics, the same oneness she'd hoped to recognize. No, these men were acquaintances, not friends. Their single-mindedness was merely to get some sort of alcohol to quench their thirst.

Bannister led his men toward the bar. Tiny clouds of dust erupted where they slapped their hats against their jackets and shirts. They had almost outrun the sandstorm blowing in from the desert. Now they were ready to wash the part they couldn't outrun out of their throats.

Inez served them their beers and went back to wiping down the bar.

The four men strolled to a back table where they could watch the goings-on in the smoky room. It wasn't long before Foster pushed his way through the doors. He got a bottle of whiskey and joined the others.

Bannister's body language didn't change, his hooded eyes gave nothing away, but he practically hissed at Foster as he joined their table. "What the hell happened?"

"You tell me. Everything was goin' 'xactly like he said it would, then, in the middle of the night, they light out like hell's own fires were chasin' them."

"How many left out of here?"

"All four."

"How'd they find us?" The 'Possum fretted.

"They tracked you down?" Foster barely remembered to keep his voice down. That wasn't supposed to happen.

"Two tried to run us to ground." Perkins volunteered. Foster looked surprised.

"The other two must've gone lookin' for Wilmington and the gambler. If they find 'em-"

"Ain't no way... Blake, we left 'em half dead…"

"What about The Kid?" Foster demanded.

"We had him with us." Possum blurted out quiltily.

"The gambler told the brat where his stash was hidden." The bear added as a way to defend their actions.

"Then where the hell is he?" Foster demanded.

Foster glared at Bannister for the answer. Bannister met his eyes, but he stayed silent. They said he knew they had messed up but wasn't ready to admit it.

The Possum couldn't bear the silence, his tone asked for clemency he sensed he would be needing, "Larabee came over a dune at us! With that wild Tanner beside him!" He whispered, but there was desperation in his tone, and a hint of a child telling of seeing demons when he was alone in the woods. "We'd a died a thousand deaths if'n they caught us!" He paused, wanting one of the others to finish the tale as if that would prove to Foster they were all equally culpable.

Bannister stared Foster down in silence. The Bear was concentrating on drinking as fast and efficiently as possible without making eye contact with anyone. It was left to Possum to confess the final details, "We kicked The Kid off his horse, it started draggin' him. Larabee and Tanner stayed back to stop that horse."

"Was The Kid dead?" Foster asked coldly.

The Possum swallowed hard, shook his head as he shrugged, "Ain't no way of tellin'."

"The Kid. He can pick you out if he lived." It was a statement, not a question, low and vicious from Foster.

"Larabee'll gut shoot us, Blake!" The Bear's voice began to rise. A sharp look from Bannister brought it back down to a whisper as he continued, " That damn tracker'll stake us out over a red ant hill and coat us with honey." His words gave way to his need to drown his thoughts. He'd been paying close attention to Buck and Ezra's comments about their friends. He was well aware of Larabee's reputation.

"We lived up to our part of the bargain." Bannister finally spoke in their defense.

"We've got our money." The 'Possum stated. He and the bear were both beyond hinky about sticking around. They were terrified. Even if The Kid was dead -especially if he was dead - they feared the ex-bounty could smell their guilt on them.

"Let's get while the gettin's good." The Bear volunteered.

"What are we waiting for?" It came back to the 'possum.

"The gambler's money." Bannister responded with grim determination.

Greed and understanding registered for 'Possum and Bear.

Foster frowned. "I don't know, Pal, we got…"

Bannister quickly redirected the conversation. "I was one of the 'soldiers' at the POW camp. That's where I met the Boss."

They'd all heard the stories about the renegade Union officer's who had tried to hold so many Southerners responsible for war crimes. Bannister didn't elaborate on the fact that he, like most of the others, had been in it as an easy way to plunder the countryside.

He met each man's eyes before he continued. If greed wouldn't convince them, Bannister would try another tact... one that motivated Bannister himself more than he cared to admit. "Larabee and his gang hunted us down clean across the country, outnumbered as they were, nine or ten to one. And that was just because we had threatened some of 'em. If we've followed the Boss's orders and killed some…" He let the other's imaginations fill in the rest. "Our best bet is to take 'em out. Kill 'em all before they can figure out who we are. Otherwise they'll never stop looking for us. 'Specially with Wilmington and Standish dead by our hands."

The others were clearly hesitant.

Bannister looked around to make sure no one could hear him. "We wait and see if the boy lived. If he did, we grab him when he gets back to town and make him show us where the money is. If he didn't make it, well, the others won't know have gotten a description of us from him then, right? That will give us time to ride out if we don't panic. But if he lived, we gotta take him out. Otherwise he'll lead the others to us no matter where we go..." Bannister waited for them to let this sink in.

"How much money the gambler got socked away?" Foster asked. It was the first he'd heard of this development, but like the boss said, he caught on fast.

"Enough to make it worth our while." Bannister baited.

"I don't want to be lookin' over my shoulder for the likes of Chris Larabee the rest of my life." 'Possum offered up. "Better see him dead, now."

"Tanner's got a $500.00 bounty on his head. We play these cards right, we'll be rollin' in money." Foster grinned, showing his tobacco-stained teeth. He had gotten a taste for this manipulation his boss had introduced him to. With what he'd been told about these men, he was sure they could figure out a way to kill them all. "Hell, maybe we should rob the damn bank on the way out of town." His grin got even wider.

* * *

There was no doubt that the sand had completely recreated the face of the desert. But the changes were too subtle for the human eye. Vin Tanner, who had trained himself to notice the smallest detail, was the possible exception. The tracker wasn't interested in the brilliant sunset that was promising them a clear day tomorrow, much less how the blast of the sand had eroded still more of the obelisk-like outcropping that sheltered them.

Vin was, however, very aware of his two unconscious friends and that Nathan was doing everything he could to keep them alive.

He knew exactly where Chris was and that he was using the opportunity and need to build a fire and heat water to distance himself from the drama. Vin had no doubt that his best friend was terrified that one or the other of the men would succumb to their condition and was steeling himself for a loss he wasn't certain he could endure.

And then there was JD. Every time anyone moved or took a step back, they ran into the young man who hovered so near. He wanted to help but was afraid to do the wrong thing.

"I don't understand." JD offered up.

Nathan backed into and stumbled over the boy as the healer once again moved from Buck to Ezra.

"Sorry," he muttered meekly, as doe brown eyes watched Nathan try to be two places at once. And he said no more, again concentrating on staying close but out of the way.

Ezra trembled with chills and yet the dark healer directed Josiah to soak the blanket that covered him with water. Vin mirrored the religious man's actions by drenching the blanket covering Buck.

JD could see the fine tremors wracking his best friend's body as well. But in addition, the tall gunfighter was trying to curl in on himself and unconsciousness was giving way to some sort of delirium. "Nathan…"

"Get over here, boy." Nathan ordered. That one needed something to occupy his mind.

JD jumped to comply. Nathan thrust one of his knives into the other's hands and a flat, one-foot long spear-like leaf of aloe vera in the other. "Do what I do." Nathan cut the tough, outer skin of the suculent away from the transparent flesh below. The outer concave part of the leaf formed a natural container. He cut into the meat of the plant and mashed it into a gelatinous, semi-liquid state.

JD did the same trying to ignore how horribly slimy the stuff was and the grassy, bitter smell.

Nathan took both of the succulent leaves. "Split all the rest of the aloe. Soften it all up." JD nodded and began repeating the process.

"Chris, leave that for now. Vin needs help with Buck."

Chris determinedly moved from where he had just put water on to heat and joined the others. The closer he came to joining the others, the more hesitant was his step.

"What's wrong with them? They were awake, talking..." JD was too worried to let things drop.

"JD," Nathan replied patiently, "Their bodies had all but shut down."

"They're freezing and you're pouring water…"

"The chills are from shock not cold. From the sunburn." The gentle fingers lightly layered the aloe vera on Ezra's shoulders.

The plant's membrane, the consistency of jelly, melted into the fiery skin and the weepy, broken blisters like butter into a biscuit. "There is no moisture... water... sweat...we've got to get their body temperatures down and moisture back into them."

Suddenly Buck jolted and tried to curl up into a ball. "Nathan!" Vin called, not knowing what was happening or what to do.

"Hold him, Vin."

It was Josiah who got to him first, grabbed the big man and held him as he wrapped his arms around his belly and pulled his legs up to his chest. The preacher held him but let him stay in that position as it seemed to offer some comfort or relief from the sudden pain.

"Cramps." Nathan said.

"It will pass, Buck. Ride it out." As his men were ministering to their friends, Larabee focused beyond his anger by focusing on every detail of what was happening. He was thinking about what he would do to the men who caused this.

"Mr. Wilmington?" Ezra's weak voice questioned what was going on.

""He's got cramps." Nathan repeated. "Vin and Josiah are tending to him. What about you?"

"Headache. Thirsty."

"Upset stomach? Think you can hold some water down?"

Ezra nodded. "I don't understand. We are still in this God forsaken wasteland?"

"'Fraid so. You gotta rest up before we move."

Josiah lost his grip on their rakish comrade who seemed to try to crawl away from the pain.

Vin reached out and even in a semi-conscious state, Buck pulled away.

This broke Larabee from his emotional paralysis and he moved in to help hold his old friend. "Buck, c'mon, Big Dog, take it easy." The gunfighter took Josiah's place. "Best let him sit up 'til he settles." Larabee muttered, almost to himself and he settled the younger man against his shoulder.

Josiah and Vin exchanged a smile at this quality of their leader they so rarely saw; the part of him that kept Wilmington so loyal; the part of him they all sensed cared about them above the gunfighter's own safety.

Ezra tried to look over to reassure himself that Buck was there. "He has a head wound, Mr. Jackson."

"I know, but he woke up for Chris earlier." That seemed to remind him of something. "Chris, that water hot yet?"

"Warm."

"That'll do. I need a cup for both of them." He drizzled more water on the blanket around the gambler.

JD left up like a skittish colt, so anxious was he to get the water; to do something to help. "C-cold..." Ezra admitted.

"I know." Nathan explained, knowing the information could keep the gambler from any panic or thinking the worst, "it's partly 'cause the night is coming on. That and your body's in some shock from that sunburn and it's got you chilled." He patiently explained for the fourth time what was going on with the gambler's body.

Ezra tried to push the wet blanket away. Nathan stopped the gambler's hands. "We've got to get your body temperature down. Get you dehydrated." He got close to his friend's face to emphasize the seriousness. He carefully rubbed some of the aloe across the damaged lips. "Don't fight me on this. It's too important."

"I envy Mr. Wilmington his unconscious state. I have never been so singularly miserable in my life." He slumped forward to avoid touching his enflamed skin to any surface. The rough blanket was torture in itself. He tried one last time to push the cover away but Nathan brushed his hands back as he spoke to JD. "Put some salt in each cup."

Ezra interrupted him. "Please, the cover is too…"

"Gotta stay, Ezra. I'm sorry. I know it's painful." His voice was truly sympathetic as he handed two large chunks of the aloe to their youngest. "Dissolve this in there, too."

Dunne took the plant and did as he was told.

Josiah handed another leaf of aloe to Chris. He rubbed it as gently as he could onto the parched lips of the man he was supporting.

JD had stopped dissolving the aloe vera and salt to stare at his weak, unconscious friend. There was a sad, small, lost look in his eyes that looked out from the long, dark bangs.

Vin glanced up and noticed. He stood and took the temporarily forgotten aloe vera leaf from the younger man. "Let me show you how well this works." The frontiersman started to rub it on his young friend's shoulders, under the shirt.

"No!" He pulled back quickly. "You have to save that!"

"We've got plenty."

"We were lucky to find so much. And bringing the extra pony kegs of water because we brought the extra horses... I could almost see God's intervention in saving our friends." Josiah said, almost to himself, but there was something bothering him.

"Drink this." Nathan said to Ezra as Vin took the concoction from JD and finally handed it to their healer. Ezra greedily drank in the liquid, only to spit it out. "God Almighty, Nathan, are you trying to poison me?"

"I know it's bitter…"

"I refuse.…"

"Drink it or I'll damn well choke it down you." Nathan's voice reflected his concern and how important the liquid was.

"Please, Ezra," JD pled, "Nathan says your body can still shut down... you're real sick."

Ezra met Nathan's eyes, "When this is over we will have to work on your bedside manner." His drawl was much thicker. He was tiring himself out. Nathan smiled, thankful for the sarcasm. His friend was asleep almost before he finished the restorative.

Nathan carefully cleaned and put a thin strip of bandage around the graze along the smaller man's ribs. Something had to be done to keep the dirt out, but it would rub that burn something fierce.

Nathan finally moved over to help Chris and Josiah get the liquid into their other friend and rewrap the broken left hand.

When he took off the tattered bandages, it became clear all over again how red and tortured the skin was compared to the toasty brown shade of the hand that had seen a lot of outside work and protected from the desert sun by the bandage. It looked pasty white in comparison…

Nathan thought back on that night, a few short hours ago, and how for that brief time they had all worked together for the common goal of keeping their group together. He looked at the back of the wagon and hoped it would be that way again.

They had set the unused saddles on end and draped the blankets over them. With the horseshoe nails they all carried, they had secured the blankets over the saddles and wagon sideboards to afford some shade for Ezra and Buck.

Buck had his head leaning against one saddle to avoid touching his tender skin to any surface. His eyes were unfocused and lost.

Ezra was propped on one shoulder and didn't miss the look. When he caught the healer's eyes, they knew they were both trying to think of something to say.

Finally, despite his greatest effort, and an unspoken fear that if he closed his eyes, they would never open again, Ezra fell into unconsciousness.

How could things have gone so badly so quickly?


	12. Chapter 12

Nathan remembered Vin sitting alone watching the evening shadows encroach, like living things, across the mesas, outcrops and scrub, for a long time. Nathan wondered what the former bounty hunter saw when he looked out on nature, so rugged and unforgiving.

Vin studied the silhouettes of the mesas, spires and obelisks that made up the desert behind them. His thoughts might have surprised their healer.

 _Misshapen castles  
Bizarre jagged precipes pulsating in heat wave disguise  
Ageless mirages taunting and urging  
Useless arms to drag over unnaturally sharp grains of sand_

Vin saw the untamed beauty. It had lost some of its appeal after coming so close to losing their friends to the unforgiving nature of the land.

 _Those arms cry don't give up  
Blistered eyes and arid tongue dream of hope  
Tears endlessly baked away still cry  
Calluses long since rawed by grit  
Plead bleedingly for one last chance at mirages_

The beauty was still there. He shouldn't blame the land for how men had tried to us it.

 _I suffer as each part of me suffers  
My tracks at last are fading from crusted earth  
Cracked and barren features mirror my own  
Lifes flow leaves my extremities...  
Concentrates at my failing source_

The sons-of-bitches had tried to make the desert guilty of their sins - like they had tried to make his poetry guilty of his inability to track.

 _I am aware I go against myself  
Numbed sight attacks your mirage -  
For as I dwindle -  
Rejuvenating rains long since gone -  
You defeat yourself_

The desert was just there. Neither good nor evil. The tracks hadn't been there. The men had intentionally left him with nothing to follow.

 _I rise on your own heat waves  
Carried to oases I only built of your mirages  
I will return one day  
I will fill with moisture and hope  
The impression I left before your face_

Buck and Ezra were finally sleeping a healing sleep instead of the semi-conscious state where they were fighting for their lives.

Larabee hadn't let them lie Buck flat until he was sound asleep. There was something there, something that Larabee knew would make his friend feel threatened and vulnerable lying in his weakened state. There was something in their past that they didn't share. But Nathan wasn't up to examining it at the time and his eyes wouldn't stay open in his exhaustion.

Josiah was lost in thought, not meditation. He had something on his mind.

JD was watching Chris.

Chris was getting drunk. Vin thought about calling his friend on it, but that wasn't their relationship. Buck got in his face about such things. Vin would be there to pick up the pieces.

Suddenly a loud crash of glass breaking brought Vin quickly to his feet. Only then did he notice it had gotten too dark to really see the desert around him.

The campfire flames were reaching for the sky, fueled by the last of the whiskey from the broken bottle Larabee had thrown into them.

Nathan was on his feet before he was fully awake, trying to recognize any possible danger.

JD had leapt, startled.

Josiah quickly, protectively moved between Larabee and the others in the camp.

The move was justified as the gunfighter started toward Nathan. Josiah blocked his path. Larabee called past the larger man to Nathan. "Buck and Ezra. They must have said something. Said who was behind this!"

The healer walked closer, recognizing a pain in his friend that medicine couldn't heal. "No names."

"JD, you were with them longer." Larabee turned on the younger man.

"I'm sorry, Chris." He lowered his eyes as he had to disappoint his hero. "They told Ezra they got paid $1,000.00. That's all."

"There's got to be something, otherwise why… why not just kill them?" He asked bluntly.

"There was something Nathan said..." Josiah spoke, but almost to himself. It didn't matter. The tone in his voice had them all listening. "... about how you had to know your patient. How they would react, how they would think."

He turned and met the eyes of their leader. "Chris, someone comes after you, he faces you like a man, or if he's a coward, he'll back shoot you. What kind of being comes after a man through his friends?"

Chris was silent. Josiah followed the inevitable train of thought and tried to cut it off. "Don't go there. Chris, Ella killed your family to keep you, not to punish you. Who would kill others to punish you?"

"Someone trying to recreate the person you were when you thought your family had been killed for that reason." Vin offered up.

Josiah shook his head. "He isn't killing. He is attacking everyone; setting everyone up to fail. Buck to fail to protect JD." He nodded to Chris, "You to fail to protect people you cared about. Nathan and Vin..."

Instead of finishing the explanation, Josiah took three pieces of paper from his pocket and handed them to Chris. Not understanding, Chris read them.

Vin and the others moved in to see what was on the parchments, fearing they already knew what secrets the Parson was letting out to the world.

Chris scowled and looked at Vin, "Who sent this to you?" His eyes turned to Nathan, "You don't believe this do you?" Josiah had saved the three pieces of paper that had placed doubt in his friends' minds. Chris read the notes that attacked Vin's poetry, Nathan's healing and his own past. It was the first time the others knew they had all been attacked with the written word.

"How long have you had these!" Larabee approached the elder peacekeeper threateningly.

"I'm sorry, Chris," Nothing Larabee could say could make him feel worse. "I knew there was something about the letters, but we've been so busy I hadn't had time to put it together."

It was Vin's turn to run interference this time as Larabee stalked toward Sanchez. "It's not just you, Cowboy. Someone attacked all of us." He unhesitatingly me the green eyes, flecked with gold when anger raged. "It's like Josiah said, the part of me that feels the words, helps me read nature. They threw me for a while..." Vin began.

"But they cheated to do it." JD added with youthful innocence and insight. "They didn't leave any trail to recognize."

Tanner hadn't been sure his words had reached his friend. When his emotions fail safe went to anger, he listened to very few. But the fire in his eyes seemed to turn to smoldering embers as he turned at their youngest's words.

"Nathan, you have to understand if you hadn't known to mix natural cures with medicine and knowledge, we would have lost Ezra and Buck tonight." Vin stated. "Who ever wrote those things knew that."

"I'm okay with things." Nathan smiled, "Josiah had a talk with me as well."

"Ella Gaines." Larabee's voice dripped with venom.

"It wasn't you who were attacked, Chris, it was all of us."Josiah observed. "She might kill us, but attack our confidence? Nathan and his lack of formal education; Vin his sensitivity. The way to make you think you failed was to make you think you had failed to protect us from your past." Josiah's voice pleaded with the man in black to understand this.

"Who have we caused to fail that would be so elaborate?" Nathan asked. It was beyond any of them to understand what kind of man it would take to hatch this scheme or why.

"No one is that crazy but Ella." Larabee repeated.

"Think about it, you know that's not how she would attack." Sanchez stood his ground.

"Then there ain't no one like that! You see things happening you don't like. You're looking for reasons for those things." Chris growled.

Josiah wouldn't be dissuaded. "Whoever he is, he's only worse than anyone else who uses words to do harm because he's so good at it. He knows what he's doing; knows where to attack." Josiah said with an anger borne of his past and his experiences with men who knew how to manipulate guilt and words.

"What about Ezra and JD?" Nathan asked. "Why didn't he attack them, too?"

"He may have. And we don't have enough of the puzzle to put it all together."

"Or maybe things didn't go the way he planned." JD offered abruptly.

They all looked at him. He hesitated, thinking he didn't have the experience to work this out with his heroes, but he did have information that might be important, "Those men weren't supposed to take Ezra. I heard them say so, just me and Buck. Maybe if they'd left him, he would have kept you so stirred up or so angry, you wouldn't have figured out..."

The others were staring at him. Suddenly very self-conscious, he stuttered to Chris, "S-sorry, it's just sometimes... you and him... you know... Sorry." The boy lowered his eyes.

Above him the others met each other's eyes and knew there might be more truth in all of this than they wanted to believe. They were quiet, all lost in individual thoughts.

Then they heard it. "Ezra, damn it, wake up!" Buck's gravelly voice cut through the silence.

JD jumped first.

Later, Chris Larabee would think he should have cared enough to react first to their friend's voice.


	13. Chapter 13

"Shit." Wilmington thought when he opened his eyes to the late night sky. The moon, still almost full, was well up and blocking the Milky Way and most of the stars. It would make it easy to see. They had to move in the night, while it was cool, before the moon set and made travel more difficult. He began to panic. How much time had he wasted sleeping? They would have to move far enough to find shade before the sun rose in the east.

His tight, burned skin didn't seem so painful. Might be the cool desert night breeze across it. He knew he was as weak as a kitten, and God, it felt good to lie here and sleep. Just ten more minutes. What could that hurt?

He jerked up quickly and the action caused his head to throb unmercifully to the beat of his pulse. Ezra. Where... there he was.

Buck Wilmington wasn't here alone. He might could give up on himself, but not when the life of another friend weighed in the balance.

On shaky legs and arms, he crawled over to rouse the gambler. He almost thought he heard voices; Chris's raised in anger as it was so often lately. No surprise there. It must be the wind. "Ezra, hey, Standish, we gotta move.. .C'mon, you Southern cuss, we gotta make up some time." The voice was raspy and wouldn't get above a whisper. He shook the smaller man who grumbled angrily and rolled over onto his back.

The combination of the sudden pain when his sunburn touched the ground and Buck's voice brought the gambler awake and he turned his head back to the voice. "Mr. Wilmington?"

"We gotta move out, try to find water before that sun gets up …"

It concerned the gambler that his friend was not aware of his surroundings and thought they were still alone. "Buck, we're safe here..."

"Damn it, Standish, no more mirages." Ezra, still exhausted, closed his eyes for a blink.

"Shit! Ezra, damn it, wake up!" was Buck's desperate response.

Before Ezra could open his eyes to comfort the other man, the others were there.

"Buck!" JD called and grabbed his arm, without thinking.

Buck swung a weak fist in his direction, thinking Bannister and his men had returned and they were under attack.

The fist never made contact. Larabee easily wrapped the man in a bear hug from behind and pinned his arms helplessly at his side. "Buck. Buck, it's Chris. You're safe. We found you." He regretted the pain this must be causing the burned and blistered skin, but he didn't dare let go until his friend was aware of his surroundings.

"I'm gonna kill you, Bannister."

"Buck, it's Chris. Wake up." His old friend kept struggling and showed no reaction to the voice. Nathan poured water over his head trying to bring him around. Buck still struggled.

Ezra staggered to his feet and reached out, "Mr. - Buck. JD brought help. Your friends are here." Vin didn't miss the fact that the conman had said 'Your friends' not 'Our friends'. He needed to have a talk with the gambler.

Nathan put a cup in Ezra's hand and helped him raise it to the other man's lips. A quick glance got a quick reassurance, "It's just water." Nathan smiled despite the situation. Apparently the man wasn't going to be any party to feeding his friend the aloe and salt potion.

As they helped get the contents of the cup into the other man, Nathan explained, "Confusion's a part of heat exhaustion sometimes. Ain't the concussion, I don't think. It'll pass." The others looked relieved.

Chris loosened his hold on his old friend from confinement to support.

Finally there seemed to be some recognition come into the eyes. "JD?"

"Yeah, Buck, me and the guys, all of us."

Wilmington smiled as his tired eyes swept the others. Then he frowned and looked back at Chris. "Was Zach here?"

The other man looked like he'd been punched. "Zach Monahans ain't never here when you need him." He answered abruptly.

"He's there, Chris, just doesn't always know how to show it." Buck added in a small voice as he gratefully took the water.

Chris, Josiah, Vin and Nathan helped Buck and Ezra sit down.

 _Doesn't know how to show it any more than you do, Larabee._ Ezra heard the rest of the statement in the tone of voice if no one else did. Damn. Two father figures who hate each other, Ezra amended his earlier insight. But this wasn't the time for that discussion.

"This Mr. Monahans came up in our talks during our travails in this hell land. I believe, as Mr. Jackson mentioned, our friend is confused as to what is real and what was merely conversation."

Larabee gave the gambler a glare that seemed to demand, 'What do you know about it?'

"Everything's alright?" Buck looked directly at Chris when he asked. There was something bothering his old friend. He didn't get an answer. "Chris?"

"Everything's fine." It came out a little harsh, not so believable, but then he knelt down and said more softly, "That is if you can figure out a way to sleep with that burn, so we can move out in the morning."

Buck nodded. Chris left Nathan, JD and Josiah to make their injured friends comfortable.

Vin started to help Nathan, but sensed Chris needed help himself.

Chris went back to stare into the fire. Tanner walked up and tried to read what his friend was seeing in the flames. "You don't think this is because of me?" He asked the younger man. He trusted his perceptions.

"They were tryin' to get to you, with those words. Like they did with me and Nathan. Someone is attackin' all of us."

"Tell that to Wilmington." Their leader said with some bitterness. Larabee had always thought he would be the first person the lady's man would turn to. But it was Ezra, then JD who had been able to bring him back to his senses tonight.

Vin was confused by the statement. He didn't see what Chris was seeing. Hell, Larabee wasn't sure what was bothering him. Except he thought he might be losing something he thought could only be lost through death. He held onto guilt long after any evidence proved he didn't need to.

Tanner sat across from his friend. Sooner or later he would want to talk. The tracker planned to be there.

Josiah had followed the two friends back to the fire because he was aware of the fragile group dynamics that had been rocking and shifting from the first time they united in Four Corners and had escalated since Clay Kestrel had laid the seeds of doubt among their group. He knew what was bothering their dark clad leader even if he didn't see it himself. "Buck and Ezra have been through a lot together lately."

Vin looked between the other two.

"He blames me for this." That explained to Vin and Josiah at least why the gunfighter thought he should blame himself. He thought Buck didn't respond to his voice because he no longer trusted him. Was this really the first time Wilmington had turned to someone else before he turned to Chris?

"He knew to expect to hear Ezra's voice, being out here together and all…"

"Buck is supposed to depend on me."

"Does he know that?" Josiah asked harshly, "If you're questioning Buck's loyalty, don't try to put it on the attack of strangers, Chris. You have been begrudging in giving your support for that friendship since you arrived in Four Corners." The ex-Preacher was in no mood to be ignored in this. If Chris must doubt himself because of the words on that note, let it be from a real disruption in what was going on around him, not an imaginary one.

Chris turned on Josiah as if attacking the man would lessen the truth in what he said.

 _Snarling, groveling, spitting truth  
What gives you the right  
To make men make you what you are  
Tactfully hidden in their blind fright?_

The poetry again came into Vin's mind when he didn't want them. He tried to ignore them as he turned to his friend, "Chris," He was also cutting Josiah off before he continued defiantly. The tracker knew what Sanchez was about to say and he cut in to say it more pacifyingly, "Whoever is doing this knows you well enough to trigger these feelings. Don't let him."

With Buck and Ezra having returned to restless sleep, but sleep none the less, Nathan left JD watching over them and returned to his friends around the camp light. The tension was palpable. He waited for someone to speak and let him in on what he had missed.

Chris was silent for so long the others didn't know if they should move Josiah out of harm's way, or ask if they could help or pretend nothing was going on and act like it never happened.

Vin couldn't stand to see his friend upset like this; being manipulated. But at least it helped put the attack on himself in perspective.

Finally Chris spoke. "If there is a man out there that… that..."

"Devious," Josiah offered up.

"I'm going to find him and finish him." Before anyone could ask how, he continued, "Those men who had JD. We're going to find them and get it out of them."

"I'm going with you." JD stated flatly.

No one was sure how long he had been there or how much he had heard. Chris met his eyes. JD didn't know if the man was seeing a boy, trouble, incompetence or nothing at all. "You need me. I know what they look like. And I owe them." He sounded a lot like Larabee.

The young Easterner waited. He was determined to go if he had to follow after them. But surprisingly, Chris nodded. "We leave at sunup." And that was it. He reached to pour himself coffee in one of their battered cups.

Josiah threw a relieved wink across the flames at Nathan and Vin. They were all together and now they were working on a plan. The downward spiral that had been so carefully planned and fueled with guilt had been diverted. God help whoever had masterminded it.

+7 + 7+7 +7+7+7

Buck hadn't seemed surprised when he was told Chris had gone after the men responsible for the current events instead of staying with the wounded.

He hadn't been surprised that Vin had accompanied him. But when he heard that the gunfighter had let JD ride with them a light had gone out of his eyes. And that light had yet to return now, as they traveled in silence, back toward Four Corners, three men short.

Nathan and Josiah knew something was going on that had nothing to do with the most recent attack against the seven. They remembered hearing parts of what Buck had said about JD becoming more like Larabee. But only Ezra knew how much their easy-going friend feared that fate. And he regretted that he had no words of comfort, no words that wouldn't sound superficial since it seemed to be coming to pass.

Their friends had left early, on the hunt before, anyone could talk.

. Enough time had passed that, for Ezra and the others, Four Corners was finally in sight. All they could do was get there, rest up, and wait.

7 +7 +7 +7 +7 + 7


	14. Chapter 14

\+ 7+ 7+7 +7 +7

Chris Larabee, Vin Tanner and JD Dunne rode into Four Corners, eyes straight ahead and oblivious to the effect their return, alone, had on the people watching from windows and from the boardwalk.

Mary saw the three and ran out of the door of the Clarion. Something stopped her. Body language, the expressions on their faces, something kept the part of her that was a newswoman as well as the part of her that was a friend from moving past the boardwalk. She, too, watched the three men ride through the street.

There had been no definite trail to follow. Vin wasn't surprised that the sandstorm had blown away all but a hint of the horses' passage. His instincts told him that those he did find were leading him back toward Four Corners. So they had headed back to the town as well.

They headed silently toward the livery. Vin noticed how much JD was like the silent, solemn Larabee when he didn't have the influence of Buck, Ezra, or the other more social members of their group.

Originally hoping to find only four new horses in the livery, they couldn't help but be disappointed to discover trailhands from a cattle drive were in town. The stables were full and spilling over to the corral.

The repairs from the fire were well underway, but some of the stalls were still uninhabitable. Even the cattle drive's remuda had been brought in for their ferriers attention.

There was no way to try and find the horses they were looking for. The soft sand Vin had originally followed the trail in had not had enough substance to hold an imprint of the detailed scrappings and wear on the horseshoes that might have delineated them from the other shod animals.

They handed their own horses to the liveryman and carefully checked the other horses.

Vin noticed the wagon they had borrowed was not back yet. It didn't surprise him that they had beaten the others back. But he would feel much more comfortable when everyone was in town again

"Vin?" Larabee asked quietly.

"Nothing." He drew his attention back to their immediate goal. " I can't tell if their horses are here or not."

"JD?"

"I'm sorry, Chris, guess I wasn't paying enough attention."

"Couldn't expect you to know which horse they had you on when you were blindfolded" Vin offered the obvious observation because he sensed the boy needed the absolution verbally from his friends.

The duster-clad gunfighter took a deep sigh. "Saloon?" He asked of Tanner.

"Hotel." He responded and headed out the doors.

Neither Larabee nor Dunne hid their confusion, but neither did they hesitate to follow.

+7+7+7+7

The hotel keeper looked up as the tracker entered and smiled a greeting.

"Mind if I have a look at your registration book?" Tanner asked quietly.

Without hesitation, but with the same curious expression as Chris and JD, he offered the ledger-like book over. Larabee was only briefly surprised to see his friend pull out the pieces of paper that held the writings that had threatened all of their confidences. Then he caught on.

They both carefully compared the handwriting to the registration signatures. Finally the former bounty hunter pointed at a name and said with certainty. "This man wrote the notes to me and Nathan."

Chris raised an eyebrow. "The note," Vin held up the one sent to him. "... made me see how the words... and trackin' were alike. Made me think maybe the same eye for trackin' might help me liken a man's letterin' to how he pens his name."

"They outsmarted themselves." Chris smiled thinly with a feeling of wicked satisfaction.

Chris read the name. "Blake Bishop. When did he check in?"

"Yesterday." The hotel keep offered.

"Alone?"

"Couple, no, three others with him."

Chris's smile turned to a feral grin.

"They're here." JD proclaimed before his hero could.

Vin was still concentrating on the registration book. "Harve, when did this feller come in?"

The Innkeeper looked at the name. "Been here three days."

"Foster." Vin read to himself. Then he looked at his best friend. "He penned your note."

Chris took the scribblings and compared the lettering himself.

"JD, I want you to saddle up a spare horse. Ride out to meet Nathan and the others. I want them to know those men are in town and to watch out for them." JD was off like a shot.

"Saloon?" Chris repeated the question.

"Saloon." Vin agreed this time.

\+ 7+7 +7 + 7+ 7

As JD hurried back to the livery, he was suddenly grabbed from the alley and dragged deep into the narrow passage.

Bannister leered at him as the Bear dragged him further into the alleyway. "Boy, we had an agreement."

The Possum was there as well as one he barely recognized from the night this all started.

The big man's forearm against JD's throat almost had his breath cut off. "Chris and Vin know you're in town." He croaked.

Bannister showed him a pistol that he held concealed between them. "Get the gambler's money for us and we'll be gone."

JD allowed himself to be pushed along. They were taking the back streets to the saloon where Ezra had confided in them that he kept a room. His entire focus was on the fact that Ezra's gun was hidden with the money. He was going to get his chance. He would make these men pay for what they did to his friends.

+7 +7 +7 + 7+ 7

Chris and Vin pushed their way into the saloon. It was crowded. They walked over to the bar to be greeted by Inez.

The fiery Spanish senorita had been waiting for these men to stride into the establishment for two days that had seemed like a lifetime. Her heart clinched when they came in alone. She died several small emotional deaths in the time it took them to enter, evaluate the current occupants for any immediate threat, find none and move toward her and the bar.

"Senors?" The question hung, afraid of an answer and yet afraid not to know.

"We found 'em, Inez. JD's with us. Josiah and Nathan are bringing those other two rascals along." Tanner smiled to end her worries.

"They're safe?"

"Some worse for wear." The sudden change in his demeanor told her it was worse than he wanted to admit to her or himself. The undercurrent of anger in this usually easy-going tracker told her someone would pay.

He must have realized she was reading him so easily because the smile returned, the features relaxed and he continued, "Nothing a little sympathy from you wouldn't go a long way to healing with the both of 'em."

"And you've been hanging around those two scoundrels too long when you start talking like that." She relaxed; sensing things were not insurmountable.

"All these fellers part of the cattle drive?" Chris asked, his patience at its limit. He knew Inez deserved to be reassured that the others were safe. But he wanted the potential dangers accounted for before his injured friends, who couldn't take care of themselves, were back in town.

For some reason he wanted to deal with these men before JD had to identify them or be a part of doling out justice. He suspected a part of him was hearing Wilmington acting as his conscience again.

The bartender realized that there was more to the question. "They are all trailhands." She affirmed as hard eyes scanned the room.

"Any other strangers in town?"

"Suspicious strangers you mean?" It's what made her so good at her job, "Three men came in night before last. I think I've seen them before. They met with a man who was in town since before you rode out. They were quiet, stayed to themselves."

She was going to add more, but Larabee had heard enough. "Describe them." He growled.

Inez got the feeling she was about to cause the deaths of these men. It showed in her hesitation.

"Inez, they'll come after us again. We gotta end this now. They don't play by the rules. We'll be more fair with them than they were with our friends." It was Vin who offered the words. Larabee didn't care to explain himself.

\+ 7+ 7+ 7+ 7+

Bannister and Foster kept JD at gunpoint in the alleyway until they at last saw the two regulators leave the saloon and head back toward Bishop's room at the hotel.

Bannister was pretty sure they couldn't have connected his real name, Bishop, to the one they'd heard, so he nodded to Foster who moved slightly ahead of them and led them toward the saloon.

JD was worried where his heroes had gone and that they would run into them unsuspecting. He didn't know if he was relieved or panicked as he finally saw them and watched Chris and Vin step out of the saloon and head back toward the hotel - moving away from where Bannister and his men would be leading him.

The boy, so recently a greenhorn, thought of calling out to the gunfighters, but logic told him his best chance of survival was to bide his time and use the gun hidden in Ezra's room.

He wondered if Josiah and the others were back. He remembered what Ezra had said. The three of them could identify the kidnappers. The outlaws couldn't afford to leave any of them alive. He knew he should try to warn his friends, but didn't know how. Suddenly he felt very incompetent and, all over again, very much like the boy among men. He wasn't sure what to do; what any of the others would do. So he followed their commands.

Inez couldn't catch her breath when she saw young JD Dunne walk into the bar with two of the men his older friends had so recently asked about.

Foster walked casually over to the polished walnut and brass bar. Bannister and JD headed on toward the stairs.

Foster moved to stand across from Inez. He casually placed his Colt .44 between them and smiled as if discussing the weather on a pleasant spring day, "My friend and the kid have business upstairs, then we'll be leaving. A lot of people will get hurt and it will be your fault if you do anything but tend to your guests."

Her rich brown eyes followed the other two up the stairs and realized that there was a gun on JD as well. She was worried and unconsciously wrung the dishrag between her hands.

\+ 7+7 + 7+7 + 7+

JD stepped into the small room. It felt a bit abandoned, even though the occupant had only been gone two nights. There was enough illumination coming through the window that Bannister chose not to trust the boy to light a lamp nor do it himself.

"Well?" The bigger man urged impatiently. He still held the pistol to his side, a tacit threat.

JD was already judging whether to grab Ezra's throw-down gun quickly and take the man by surprise, or draw it out slowly as if he were bringing up the money. Should he try to shoot the man as the weapon cleared the floor? Or risk getting it up where he could actually aim. Buck would say aim. Chris would shoot from the floor. Should he give the man a chance to surrender?

Bannister stood with his back to the closed door. JD turned to face him as he knelt at the foot of the oversized bed and pried at the thin slat of wood closest to the footboard. It popped open easily.

Bannister motioned encouragement with the barrel of the gun. JD reached into the recess. His fingers immediately brushed across two bundles of money. He stretched, seeking the gun. Nothing. He felt as far back and across as he could. Nothing. Fear and a sinking loss of all hope overtook him. He tried not to let it show.

"Hey, Kid, get with it."

JD's mind was racing. He could hand this man the money and hope he left. That wasn't going to happen. And hoping it would happen wouldn't make it so.

He could throw the money at Bannister. At the worst it would surprise him enough that JD could go for his gun hand. At least getting killed, the sound of the gunshot would alert Chris and Vin. At the best, maybe the man's greed would lead him to try to pick up the money and give Chris or Vin time to get here and avenge his death. Maybe he could talk the man into something like Ezra would. He tensed his leg muscles as he grabbed the handful of bills. Practically channeling Chris Larabee, he was ready to move.

"Looking for this?" A smooth voice asked from behind him.

Recognition of the voice turned his spine to ice water. He had only thought he had been afraid a second ago. He had only thought the situation had been desperate a second ago. And the look on Bannister's face said the other man was equally unsettled by the man he saw there.

Neither of them had noticed that the closet door was open a crack.

It was swung open now, and the tall, calm, suave Clay Kestrel was pointing Ezra's throw-down gun into the room in a way that made them both an equal target. The man's dark eyes held delighted amusement. His silky, straight, jet black hair hung across his shoulders and shadowed much of his face in the growing morning light.

JD didn't answer. He recognized the gun as one Ezra sometimes carried in his shoulder holster – the gun that was missing from the gamblers hidey-hole. He closed his eyes in an attempt to fight the despair that was trying to take over.


	15. Chapter 15

+7 + 7+7 + 7+7 +

Inez Recillos watched the man before her. She watched closely for a chance to do something to change the situation and take the upper hand from this man. She tried to will Chris Larabee or Vin Tanner to come through the door, but it wasn't to be.

\+ 7+7 +7 + 7+ 7+

"Hey, Clay, man, I didn't know you were in town." Bannister tried to sound light.

"Put the gun down, Blake." The refined gunfighter said, and it was almost a suggestion. The other man complied like a rat hypnotized by a rattlesnake as it moved in for the kill. He simply tossed the gun on the bed.

Everything Josiah had said fell into place. JD had never completely understood how the man now before him had torn at Buck and convinced him to leave his home in Four Corners. He didn't understand how this man had been able to convince the usually pragmatic and look-out-for-number-one gambler to let himself be dragged into a makeshift prisoner of war camp. But if anyone could and would use words to tear apart their family, individually and together, it was this man.

Ezra and Buck had brought down his plundering campaign. Kestrel had failed.

Buck and Chris had defied his attempts to rip apart their friendship. Failed.

He hadn't been able to convince Josiah and Nathan he would be as good a leader for the regulators in the town as Larabee was. JD couldn't help but smile at the man. Failure. Loser.

Clay Kestrel hadn't been able to take down these men JD admired so.

And, now to see he was behind the verbal and emotional attacks that tried to tear the Seven apart. He hadn't been able to destroy them. Clay Kestrel failed. But here he was, acting as if he hadn't failed; that he still had a play to make.

JD Dunne wanted this man dead, as badly, he suspected, as Chris Larabee had ever wanted anyone to die. And he wanted Bannister dead because he was weak enough to follow this Comanchero and had hurt his friends.

Kestrel must have read it all in the young man's eyes. He laughed out loud and offered the gun he held, butt first, to the youngest regulator, "You want to kill him?"

JD couldn't believe he was being offered that gun and that opportunity.

+7+7+7+7+

Vin and Chris walked out of the bathhouse. The men they were looking for were not in the saloon, the bathhouse or their hotel rooms. This time Tanner had the inscrutable look on his face. The leader was troubled. He didn't know where these men were and he was beginning to regret letting their youngest out of his sight. He strode toward the livery deciding to make sure the boy's horse was gone and he'd made it out of town.

+7 +7 + 7+ 7+ 7+

Bannister looked up quickly when Kestrel offered the little runt the chance to gun him down. But didn't dare go for his gun on the bed. What was the Boss up to?

JD's thoughts were jumbled. Should he gun the man down? Isn't that what Chris would do? Isn't that what he, himself, wanted to do? Was Kestrel really offering him the gun? What was behind that? The man always had an angle; a good, well thought out, devious angle. Could he turn the gun on Kestrel?

"C'mon, Clay, we did everything you asked." Bannister bartered.

"If you did as I asked, this whelp would be dead in the desert and Wilmington would have died knowing that failure."

"We left Wilmington and the gambler."

"I know how those two behave together!" Kestrel went from calm to manic. "I needed Standish here to keep Larabee too angry to think straight! I needed... but it was too simple wasn't it? So obvious you couldn't get it!"

"Please, Clay, we didn't realize it mattered which…"

"Don't lie to me!"

Bannister shrank back.

JD was fascinated by the insanity he saw in the man who held the upper hand. And it scared him how very much it reminded him of the look he had seen before in Chris Larabee's eyes.

Suddenly Buck and Chris's nemesis turned pleasantly to JD, "So, pup, you want to do him?"

JD didn't know how to answer.

"Of course, he has it planned that the first gunshot that comes from this room is the signal for his pack to ambush your friends."

JD's eyes went wide at this information. He looked quickly at Bannister and saw from his expression the statement was true. The outlaw tried to mask his features, but not before JD saw it.

JD turned back to Kestrel. What could he do to save his friends?

This gunfighter, who Buck considered a devil who walked as a man smiled at JD. "I've decided I want you alive, pup. My plans have changed. You can kill him or I'll give you one minute to get into the street and warn your friends."

JD looked out the window. He couldn't see Chris or Vin, but oh God, Nathan and Josiah were pulling the wagon into the edge of town. He looked back and saw that Kestrel saw it too. "You've got 50 seconds." He was still holding his gun, butt first toward the young easterner.

\+ 7+7 +7 +7 +7 +

JD ran before he realized he'd made the decision. He ran out the door; ran from the questions of what he should or shouldn't do that screamed through his mind. He ran from Kestrel's laugh that mocked him down the stairs and ran despite the rustle of petticoats he subconsciously heard down the hall behind him or the disconcertingly familiar feminine laughter that blended all too well with the man's.

Thinking back on it, JD would always regret that he didn't remember the man guarding Inez, or think about being more cautious.

In his inexperience, all he could focus on was that he had mere seconds to warn his friends against men willing to shoot them down from ambush while they tried to get the injured to the clinic.

JD ran into the street.

The wind was up again. The sky was coated with a layer of dust and it was being stirred into tiny dust devils caught between the buildings. It even blew his bowler off as he ran down the street. "Josiah! Nathan!"

He ran toward the wagon. A strong fist wrapped around his upper arm. He spun, ready to fight back. He realized it was Chris. Vin, behind him, looked sympathetic, thinking the youngster was about to feel Larabee's wrath for disobeying him. Later, he would wish that was all that happened. "Son, I told you to ride..." Larabee started, with a fury in his voice.

"Kestrel. Clay Kestrel." JD was panting trying to get the information out and claw out of the gunfighter's grasp so he could warn the others. "He's in Ezra's room. They're gonna kill…"

The single gunshot rang out from behind him; from inside and upstairs in the bar. In the time it took to register on him, it also registered with others and bullets began to fly.

JD broke from Chris's grasp and ran toward the wagon. Josiah had pulled up on the horses' reins in response to the sudden gunfire. They were in front of the dry goods store.

Bullets and shrapnel bit into the sand at JD's feet as the gunmen failed to lead him enough to find a target.

More bullets bit into the heavy wood of the wagon as Josiah pulled it to a stop.

Nathan, riding Buck's horse, pulled the animal up violently and short, dove off and joined Josiah on the side of the wagon opposite of the incoming rounds.

Chris dove into the saloon. He too, missed the danger that faced Inez in his single-minded haste. He went after Kestrel oblivious to what the gunfire in the street meant regarding the safety of his friends. Vin followed him.

\+ 7+7 +7 + 7+ 7+

The gunfire revived the dozing and weak Ezra and Buck. Reflexively they tried to rise and identify the threat and who was in danger. Josiah dived over the seat of the buckboard onto the men to keep them down.

The bullets were biting into the dirt in front of the wagon and the wooden sideboards. It seemed the wagon was just barely in range of the would-be assassins.

Nathan was off of Buck's horse in a bound. He, like Josiah, was laying down mostly cover fire. Any focus they might place on identifying their targets and getting a clear shot was being used to protect their injured friends and get them to safety.

Nathan, God help him if Buck found out, used Pal as partial cover. The lanky gunfighter might allow the sacrifice for the others, but would never use the horse to protect himself.

Josiah raised a prayer to several deities that had seemed to be receptive in the past, not the least of which, recently, was his own Christian God. And he gave thanks for what he saw as possible divine intervention. The upended saddles, originally meant to supply shade, were taking several hits and adding a measure of protection while they tried to get the others out of the wagon.

Even in the heat of the battle and the danger to himself and the others, or perhaps because of it, he realized he was thankful to be sensing this little bit of God's presence in his life again.

It had only been a heartbeat since JD's frantic warning and the gunfire that followed immediately. No one had time to look for the boy.

Nathan grabbed Ezra's legs and pulled until he could feel an arm. His vision was toward potential sources of the gunfire.

Josiah and even Buck were helping get the gambler out of the back of the wagon. Nathan threw the man's arm over his shoulder and was rewarded when his friend took a death grip on the back of his shirt to try and help hold himself up.

Between the gambler and his gun, the tenuous hold the healer had on Pal's reins was lost easily when a bullet clipped too closely to the big gelding's back hoof. Frightened, the usually calm and weapon-tested gray bolted for the remembered safety of the livery.

The yoked animals responded to the fear of the other and it caused a chain reaction.

The wagon was dragged wildly down the main street as well as the horses tied behind it. The sudden movement threw Josiah and Buck from the back and they landed in a vulnerable heap of arms and legs in the middle of the street.

Ezra and Nathan, not having made two steps in their retreat, were spun around by the tied horses and landed on the dusty ground beside the others. +7 + 7+7 +7 + 7+

Foster had seen the boy rush out of the bar. Something was wrong. As he raised the gun in JD's direction, Inez brought an amber whiskey bottle down painfully on his hand. He never even got a chance to pull the trigger.

Now, there had been too much gunfire. It had lasted too long. Oh, yeah, something had gone wrong. Bannister, in the gambler's room? Let him watch out for himself.

Foster grabbed Inez's hair and pulled until her face was close enough that his offensive breath made her flinch. He kept the grip wrapped in her hair and dragged her to the end of the bar where he could pull her close and head to the doors.

The locals had become spoiled to letting the regulators defend the town and take the risks.

Inside the bar, the trail drivers weren't sure what was going on or whose side to be on. Their response was to use the gun that wavered between aiming at them and the popular bartender as an excuse to do nothing. Foster dragged her out the back door.

\+ 7+7 +7+ 7+ 7+

The eruption of gunfire had JD running down the middle of the street, as fast as he could, guns drawn, oblivious to any danger to himself as he saw, from one heartbeat to another and another, Josiah and Nathan try to get their friends to safety, the horses bolt and the men land on the open ground. He couldn't tell if anyone was caught by the hooves.

The would-be assassins were "walking" the bullets toward their target. Accuracy was questionable at this distance with revolvers, but with no one close enough to stop them, the men methodically shot, watched where the bullet hit, and shot again getting the range on their victims.

Suddenly young JD Dunne, both revolvers barking placed himself between the bullets and his friends.

With no obligation except to supply cover fire, and defend his friends, the boy aimed first one Colt and then the other at the attackers. His enthusiasm and ability quickly had the enemy scurrying for shelter.

Josiah grabbed Buck and Nathan reclaimed his grip on Ezra. They backed up until their heels touched the boardwalk, stepped up and dragged their charges into the dry goods store. Mrs. Potter had the door open and encouraged them in. JD was on their heels and they all collapsed against the wall to catch their breath and check for injuries.

+7 +7 +7 +7 + 7+

Barely missing Foster when he left with his hostage, Larabee slammed into their resident gambler's room. The door bounced off the wall in response.

The room was still. Not even a draft blew the curtains. All of the man's instincts told him the space was empty.

A gristled, trail-hardened cowboy lay spread eagle on the carpet. Blood drained, thanks to gravity, from a small caliber wound at the base of his neck. The heart was no longer pumping the life-giving fluid through that one's body.

Vin lowered his gun and glanced about the surroundings.

The soft, subtle, exotic, expensive whiff of a woman's perfume, as he entered, had Larabee's hackles up. It was familiar... Abruptly, the gunfire outside stopped. It hadn't been the noise, but now the lack of it, that left a sudden nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach. There could be very few reasons for the shooting to stop, most of them unacceptable.

Suddenly the gunfighter realized, once again he had sacrificed the safety of others for bloodlust. He had forced his best friend to choose between covering his back and going to the aid of their other five friends. He had known Kestrel wouldn't hang around the room, and yet...in the still, heavy silence, he looked into those clear blue eyes and knew that Tanner realized the choice he had been forced to make as well.

The hint of emotions that were about to result from their actions was cut short when the gunshots began again. They both ran to do their part this time. Chris suspected he would rather face a shootout than his best friend's thoughts on the ramifications of what he had just done.

\+ 7+7 + 7+ 7+ 7+

"Ezra?" Nathan began.

"No new injuries."

"Buck?"

"I'm good. I'm good. What were you doing with Paladin?" His first thought was what he had seen Jacson using the dapple for cover."

"He's fine." Nathan said without really answering the question. "Ran straight to the livery."

Buck met the other man's eyes for a heartbeat. Finally, accepting the horse was safe now, no matter what went before, he sighed, "Damn, that's a hell of a way to get woke up."

"Buck ..." The youngest of the regulators studied the other closely, realizing in the last few days that much of his life and his heart reflected in this man, his big brother in all but blood.

"Hey, kid..." He had to catch his breath. He was weaker than he realized.

JD looked over to evaluate Ezra with the same eye as Nathan. The gambler winked encouragement to him.

The gunfire had diminished with the loss of any easy target. But they were still out there.

"Stay here." Josiah ordered as he and Nathan regained their feet and burst out the door to confront the enemy. JD was right behind them, but not fast enough to keep Buck from grabbing his left gun.

When their eyes met, nothing needed to be said. Buck needed a gun in his hand. JD handed over the weapon, unbuckled his gunbelt and handed it over as well. Mrs. Potter was already placing an extra box of ammunition on the glass countertop. The boy took the box.

"Boy, you use your head out there." Buck ordered. But he again saw the Chris Larabee determination take over his young friend as it did more and more in these situations.

"You two stay safe. We'll take care of this." JD DunnE said with resolve beyond his years and dodged out the door for the nearest cover.

The door was still open. Mrs. Potter was a bit in shock. This was a side of the boy she'd never seen before.

Ezra and Buck met each other's eyes. Buck raised an eyebrow at the gun he now held. They both slowly got to their feet.

The communication may have been silent, but it was apparent enough. The owner of the dry goods store had another handgun and box of ammunition on the counter for the gambler to pick up as he went by. He used the gun barrel to tip an imaginary hat at the woman. She smiled at them both with motherly affection and concern.

There was no doubt between them that they would take the back door to maneuver into the battle. Going up against the men shooting at them was one thing. But with matching smirks of acknowledgment, going up against Chris and the others once those friends realized they had joined in the fray, was something they would put off as long as possible.

\+ 7+7 +7+7 + 7+

Foster pulled Inez to the mouth of the alley. Puffs of gunfire showed that at least two of his colleagues were still on the rooftops. But the men were falling back toward the livery, away from the almost certain targets nearer the wagon by the dry goods store.

Retreat.

They were running.

Foster headed toward the livery to be the first one there and let the others cover his retreat. He wrapped his left arm tightly around Inez's waist. He kept his back to the walls of the buildings as he passed. He kept the woman in front of him as a shield. He sidled toward the horses and escape.

+7+7+ 7+7+7+

Chris and Vin split up.

Vin headed for the rooftops.


	16. Chapter 16

Chris moved cautiously down the streets. His plan was to get to his friends, make sure they were safe, and then work his way back through town making sure he stayed between them and any danger. Then he would kill these men hired to hurt people he cared about.

A sound in the alley spun him in that direction in anticipation. Both he and JD Dunne pulled up on their guns at the same time. Their eyes met. Larabee didn't like what he saw.

"Why aren't you with the others?" He asked angrily. Part of it was because the boy always, recently, seemed to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Larabee was always drawing down only to pull up a split second before he fired, a split second before he would have shot the boy and all the ramifications of that.

The boy was always at the wrong place at the wrong time in recent gun battles. He was always where Larabee was, like they were thinking alike.

"Buck and the others are all right. I'm going after those men."

"I'll take care of them."

"I made a promise." They were both alert to their surroundings; the atmosphere of battle and potential danger.

"Buck wouldn't want you going out to gun a man down."

JD brought his dark brown eyes back from the surroundings to meet those of his idol. "I didn't make the promise to him. I made it to myself."

What bothered Larabee the most was that the statement held none of the naïve, false bravado that would have so recently marked this youth. There was nothing in it that was trying to impress the legend that Larabee had unwittingly become.

Before Larabee could argue or order him to stop or analyze his emotions, the boy was headed toward the livery.

\+ 7+7 +7 +7 +7 +

The hired guns were retreating, running, every man for himself. Vin knew that there had been four men in the desert and one in town. Five. How many more there might be, or how many were down, he didn't know.

There was more at stake here than the immediate threat. No one should be able to target the seven and get away with it. Vin Tanner wanted these men stopped.

But Clay Kestrel. He wished he didn't have to believe what JD had said. It made everything that Josiah had feared seem true. He had wanted it to be a matter of simple, revenge, a matter of coincidence that the attack coincided with the letter regarding his writing. Clay Kestrel was so manipulative, so dangerous. Even at their best it sometimes seemed they were playing checkers while that maniac was playing chess with them as pawns.

How had Kestrel figured out he wrote that poem? Mary hadn't published a name. Anonymous. Was he ashamed of it? No, he was beyond that.

And his attack on Nathan. No one in this town would attack Nathan's ability. He moved cautiously from one roof to another. Kestrel's men weren't here. He looked around for them. He needed to get these men and get answers - where would Kestrel go to ground? Where could they track him down?

+7 + 7+ 7+ 7+ 7+

Buck and Ezra scooted down the back alley. They were following the sound of the gun battle.

Buck was determined to stay on his feet and see this to the end.

Ezra was forcing himself along through sheer will power as well.

At the moment, Buck's single-minded determination was to stop these men and make the town safe for his friends. Ezra had a more specific agenda in mind. He was going to protect Buck and JD from each other and themselves. And, if need be, he would protect them from Chris Larabee.

He glanced at the face of the rascal in front of him and saw a similar resolve in his eyes that the gambler suspected even the man himself didn't recognize.

As they cautiously moved toward the gunplay, all senses at alert, Buck realized that he trusted Ezra completely to watch his back. It was a stimulation to go headlong into battle he hadn't felt in a long time. Not that he needed a reason to dive recklessly into the middle of things.

He knew JD would try to cover him, but would make the mistakes of youth. He had felt that trust only sporadically with Chris since he lost Sarah and Adam. And though it was an all-powerful feeling when the two of them were in sync, more often now his old friend was distracted by ghosts and vengeance.

At least Vin and Chris could look out for each other. The others had too much sense to grow that devoted to one friendship - or that desperate, or that thankful.

Josiah and Nathan were well-rounded son-of-a-guns.

He looked back to check on Ezra and see if he was doing okay, and was surprised to see the gambler watching him for the same reason.

\+ 7+7 +7 + 7+ 7+

Foster cautiously edged past the alleyway. This was where he was vulnerable; the only time he had nothing to cover his back. He pulled the feisty bartender tighter and, in quick movements, turned from one direction to the other. He never stayed in one position long enough for anyone to get a shot off without endangering the woman. She was struggling but it was doing no good.

Behind him, no one. In the alley, empty. Before him, nothing. Then in the street, not ten feet from him, stood the tracker. He was carrying a mare's leg. A scattergun was even more of a threat to the woman than a revolver. It gave the brigand confidence to continue. He mistakenly ignored Vin's body language which was relaxed and confident.

Foster again began to crab his way toward the livery, with his back to the buildings, the woman shielding him from the former bounty hunter. Luckily he had been the one to stay and study the town and its regulators. He knew this one would not do anything to endanger the woman.

The barrel of the sawed off shotgun moved with him, waiting for an opportunity, but Foster wouldn't let that opportunity come. No one spoke, no false bravado, no threats or ultimatums.

The sound, the force hitting him and the pinpricks of glass showering him registered at the same time. Foster had his back against the plate glass window of the mercantile when everything tilted and the next thing he knew, he found himself on the ground.

He was struggling to keep his grip on the woman who was fighting him like a wildcat.

He still held his gun and used it to backhand the giant preacher who had caught him off guard by coming through the window to tackle him.

The good padre was immediately holding his face, blood gushing into his eyes from the twin gashes made by the barrel sight and hammer of Foster's gun.

The woman screamed more in anger than fear.

Immediately Foster reeled around with the gun to look for the threat of the bounty hunter.

As he registered the man's location and aimed, he felt a sudden impact to his right shoulder. Only after the punch, and the realization that his hand would no longer grip and the gun was dropping from his numb fingers, did he look down and see the knife hilt protruding from the shoulder of his gun arm.

The black man he knew as the healer walked over, another knife at the ready, and picked up the gun. He then turned immediately to tend to his older friend. He never even looked back, knowing that Tanner would have the man covered.

A sound, an instinct, something, caused Vin to spin just before Perkins, wounded, and coming out of the alleyway, pulled the trigger.

The mare's leg barked and the target flew backwards with the impact and was dead before he slid down the wall, leaving a crimson slick where his back touched the wood.

The hotheaded senorita crawled quickly from within Foster's grasp and turned to rail at him in Spanish. You didn't want to be on her bad side, Tanner smiled. "Ma'am," he began. He couldn't interrupt her diatribe. "Miss Inez..." now he was laughing , "INEZ!"

"What?"

"Could I borrow your sash, Ma'am? We need this guy settled so we can go help the others."

Still angry, she whipped the red bolt of cloth from around her waist and tied the man to the hitching post herself, heedless of his wound.

"You find the others, Mr. Tanner. And end this. After that, all of you will stay in the tavern until I say differently. Mr. Jackson, what nursing you have to do? I suggest we go get all of your supplies now. None of you are leaving my sight after this until you can convince me you can take care of yourselves."

Tanner, Jackson and Sanchez, wide-eyed, somewhat awestruck by the display, couldn't find words.

"I'm getting too old for this." Josiah finally assured them.

Vin offered his bandana to help squelch the bleeding. Nathan gave Vin a look of reassurance as he and Inez began to wrestle the older man toward the clinic. No, Vin amended that thought, he was sure they were headed toward the saloon just as Inez had ordered.

He himself headed out to account for the rest of their friends and the rest of the men who where threatening them. +7 + 7+7 +7 + 7+

Ezra and Buck chose to enter the partially rebuilt stables from opposite ends. It was interesting, besides the fact that either one of them were still on their feet at all, that this is where it had all begun, and only three days ago.

Ezra was sure that if he made it the next three minutes things would be fine. Then he would sleep the next three weeks.

He stopped short, there was already a confrontation going on inside.

The man he had come to refer to as the 'Possum was in the middle of the stable. Chris, JD and Buck all had their guns leveled at the man.

Chris knew Buck well enough to know he would keep the man covered. The legendary gunfighter slid his pistol back into its holster.

"Chris..." His old friend's voice held all kinds of warnings in it. They were ignored.

One of the things Buck was trying to warn off took a painfully short time to come about. JD Dunne slid his gun back in the holster as well. "Damn it, Chris," Wilmington began, but he was interrupted.

Ezra watched as the 'Possum lowered his gun slightly in confusion. "I ain't gonna try to fast draw you, Larabee." The weasely little man bemoaned.

JD stepped forward immediately to fill that vacuum.

"JD." There was an order in Larabee's voice for the young man to stand down. He was ignored.

The dark clad gunfighter took a second to grab a look at his older friend. He looked like his worse nightmare had just come true.

"You and me." The youngest said steadily. "You win, they'll let you ride out."

"Not a chance in hell," Buck roared, his gun still aimed at the man who had caused and was still causing so much hurt.

"Buck, I gotta do this."

"Like hell, boy. Back off. He's goin' to jail."

"You've already got your gun out." JD goaded the Possum and ignored the desperation and pain in his friend's tone.

Chris was unnaturally quiet, ready to react, to protect these men, but the expression on his face as he watched JD fight back the urge to brush the long black bangs from his eyes, was troubled.

Ezra took in the situation. If Larabee shot the man that damn star struck kid would try even harder to be like him. If the kid took him out he would be one step closer to who Buck was afraid he would become. And Wilmington, he didn't have it in him to kill a man in cold blood, no matter how much the man deserved it. But he would pull that trigger he had pressure on even now. He would gun the man down if it would keep the other two alternatives from becoming realities. And a part of the lanky gunfighter would die as well, to kill when it might not be necessary and to have to do it to keep his friends from selling their souls.

Ezra made his decision. He stepped out of the shadows, "Excuse me, sir, I believe we have some unfinished business."

The man turned, gun aimed at the gambler. Ezra pulled the trigger. He would lose more sleep if the death of this man hurt his family than if he killed him to be sure one of the others didn't.

Larabee and Dunne both stood frozen, not willing to comprehend that it was over.

The boy's bangs hung forward in his face exactly like Larabee's. The fire in his eyes was the same. Buck held his breath at the similarities.

Then, while Larabee's eyes met his old time friend, he gave barely regretful smile and moved to make sure the man was dead.

When JD sought out Buck, he tucked the strands of hair behind his ear and his eyes lit up with joy to see his big brother well enough to stand on his own. The potential gunfighter was gone, at least for now. The idealistic, innocent boy Buck loved was back, just that fast.

A shuffle of hay and the nicker of a horse were the only warning any of them had. The "Bear" ran out of a stall where he had been hiding. He was making a desperate break for it. He had Ezra in his sights. The gambler stood between him and a chance at freedom.

The shot rang out.

It took a moment for the gambler to realize he hadn't been hit. Buck's gun was smoking. The Bear lay dead in the hay, again very near where his partner had fallen only a few days ago. This man, who was trying to gun down a friend, Buck had no qualms about shooting. No more than he would a mad dog.

Buck looked quickly at Ezra for any hint of what the two shootings might be costing him. That damn poker face was in place. And it made Buck mad. He couldn't call the southerner on the way he reacted, it was long engrained in him.

The rogue turned his anger on someone who was still molding himself into the man he was going to be. "Boy," He called to JD who seemed stunned by this turn of events. "You almost got Ezra killed holsterin' your gun like that. A damn fool stunt. Would it have been worth it? Was it worth it!" Ezra couldn't tell if the big man was talking to JD or Chris.

JD opened his mouth and closed it. At first his face reflected anger, then indignation, then fear of what might have happened, then regret. "God, Buck…"

Vin burst into the livery, gun at ready. He relaxed slightly when he took in who was standing and who was in the dirt. He went straight to check on his friends, never even considering the dead men.

"Are you alright, Buck?" He asked the man who was closer, "Ezra, what the hell are you doing up and here? Does Nathan know?"

"No. He damn well doesn't." He used small words to emphasis the fact that he wasn't looking forward to dealing with the usually gentle-natured healer. He could be most irritating when his patients didn't cooperate.

Chris watched JD walk over to Buck and humbly, without a word being spoken, ask forgiveness for disappointing the older man.

Buck had to fight with himself to grant the forgiveness, so much could have been lost, but in the end he reached out and pulled the boy close so their foreheads met and said something no one else could hear.

JD had seen every emotion go across the other man's face as he fought to find it in himself to understand and forgive. He never wanted to be the cause of that struggle again.

Nathan arrived in a rush, but like Vin relaxed when he saw things were under control. And yet, there was something wrong, but surprisingly, the feeling came from the newest arrival. Vin could tell by the gentle man's expression. "Nathan?"

There was no easy way to say it. "Foster? The guy we left tied up? He's dead." Vin frowned. He hadn't been injured that badly.

"Someone slit his throat." Nathan said with a deep sigh. "He didn't have a chance."

"Kestrel." Larabee growled.

"Clay's here?" Buck asked, worried all over again. The acknowledgment of this threat reflected in the other's eyes. Wilmington made a move as if to go look for him.

Chris put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. There was a slight twinge when the hand touched the blistered skin, "He'll be long gone. To lay up and lick his wounds." He assured his old friend. "Let's get you and Ezra and JD taken care of. There'll be time to run him to ground when we're all healed."

The deadly gunfighter knew that watching out for the others would come before going after Kestrel as far as Buck was concerned. Larabee realized it was what he should have done instead of chasing Kestrel the first time. Vin met his friend's eyes, saw this realization and smiled.

"Josiah?" Chris asked when he noticed who was missing.

"Josiah's being mothered by Inez like she threatened. Hopefully she'll get it out of her system before we get..." Nathan said, heading toward Buck who was closest. "Are you crazy? Nathan, this is Inez. No offense, but she's a mite prettier than you are ..." Buck was letting the boy completely off the hook by starting to joke. He took a step pleasantly toward the doors heading to the saloon, but his legs turned to water and simply gave out under him. JD and Chris both caught him before he hit the ground and lowered him slowly to the hay.

"God, Buck," JD began.

"Hey, Kid, if I'm feeling this bad, Ezra's not doing so hot either. Go check on him?"

"Sure." JD knew that Buck was in good hands with Chris and Nathan was moving in fast. He thought Buck would rather have his old, trusted friend take care of him. JD understood. He wished it was different, but he understood he would have to earn that kind of connection with the older man. He hoped he hadn't frayed those chances today.

He moved over to make sure Ezra was doing okay. How could a man look that pale and be so sunburned?

"Not now, Nathan," Buck was a bit strident.

"Buck,"

"Please, Nathan, Ezra first."

With a sigh of frustration, the healer moved over from one obstinate patient to the other.

When they were finally alone, Buck looked up at Chris. He couldn't find the words. He didn't know if it was because he didn't want to hear the answer or was too tired for the fight.

"You look like hell, Buck. Why couldn't you let us handle this?"

Buck wouldn't meet his eyes. That wasn't what he wanted to talk about. Chris studied him. "You know it makes me nervous when you're so quiet," he continued.

Buck nodded without meeting his eyes. _Okay, what was wrong?_ Chris wondered. He watched Buck cut his eyes over to JD and Ezra. Then Chris got it. "I took the boy because Josiah and Nathan had their hands full with you two."

Buck looked up at that. Was Larabee becoming a mind reader? "There were men trying to kill us." Larabee continued. "I could watch the kid while you couldn't."

There was a silence between them. Buck wanted to believe, but didn't know if this Chris Larabee would have that level of compassion; of understanding. The old one would, but... "I wouldn't let the boy call these guys out. It would never have gotten any further. I know how you feel about that." Buck stared. He did get it.

Relaxing seemed to prove that he had been surviving on adrenaline. Buck rested his head against the stall. "Chris, I gotta... talk to you about .. a river..." But his head slumped forward and the darkness claimed him before he could continue. "Buck? Buck!" 


	17. Chapter 17

**TWO WEEKS LATER**

Chris Larabee, stripped to the waist, strained to reach into the depths beneath the riverbanks. He could feel up and into the crannies that had been hollowed there by eddies and currents that were in turn churned up by the rapids at his back. Barefoot, his toes sank into the silty mud that clouded the water.

"Not this time, Wilmington." His mind growled. He was oblivious to the water bugs and red eared minnows that danced away from his intrusion. The daddy long legs and other spiders on the bank didn't even register.

With single-minded determination Chris Larabee took a breath and dove underwater for a better reach into where the river concealed its secrets and that which he would claim as its own.

He didn't notice that the pecan trees lowered the temperature by ten degrees in their shade. His fingers sought unsuccessfully for their target - their goal. Nothing. "Not this time. If I could..."

As he was finally forced to break the surface for air, he heard frantic splashing and loud shouts downstream. "Damn. Damn. Damn."

He looked to his right. Buck Wilmington was stretched in the water along the bank, chest deep in the water. Stripped from the waist up, burned skin peeling from his back, chest and forehead, he rested his left wrist precariously on the bank. That was the only concession he gave to protecting his broken hand; the bandages on which were again wet and dirty.

Nathan would be pissed. Good, Larabee thought vengefully.

Because Buck's right hand, still underwater, was thrashing so wildly that it appeared it would be pulled out of its socket.

Suddenly Wilmington lost his balance and disappeared below the dirty water. The surface continued to roil and churn. After two unsuccessful tries, the dark-haired gunfighter was finally able to regain his footing and turn a triumphant smile toward his friend. When his right hand finally appeared it had a death grip on the lower jaw of a 15" long catfish.

"Damn." Larabee muttered competitively.

Based on the broad head, the thing must be a yellow cat; at least 16 pounds.

Buck's smile was contagious and the other man caught himself returning it as he finally began to wade that direction.

The man had a talent for finding a fish. Grappling fish or women, it was rare for him to be outdone. And Chris had tried, he admitted begrudgingly, with the fish and, in the distant history they shared, even the women. T

he memories made the gunman's smile widen. Chris noticed the blood that ran down Buck's wrist as he tried to hold the flailing yellow cat. He took some satisfaction that he would get to watch Nathan lay into the lady's man over the most recent injury.

Unexpectedly the fish jackknifed out of the water and back in. There was no leverage in the quicksand-like river bottom and, refusing to let go of his catch, Buck fell backwards away from the relatively calm and sun-warmed waters by the bank and into the icy white water rapids fed by the spring thaw.

The current had Wilmington several yards past Larabee before he could react and dive in after him.

Chris had caught up to his old friend by the time they were swept past the part of the river where their other friends were practicing a more conventional and subdued form of fishing.

Both focused on keeping the fish and somehow working their way to shore, they were completely oblivious to the looks they were getting or the fact that they were about to drown each other.

Arms, legs and fins, in a tangled mass washed past. A butt was as likely to be turned toward the sun as a face. Neither man would let go of the fish.

"Damn it, Buck!"

"I got it! I got it!"

"Grab that... okay, now, grab that... get the damn limb!"

The shouts were often cut short by a mouthful of water. JD watched the show float by not knowing what to think.

Nathan started a slow boil over the fact that a barely healing Buck was tumbling along in the ice cold water. And what was Chris thinking? Not letting go of that... was that a fish? What a beauty!

Josiah laughed out loud. The two were acting like kids and having a hell of a time.

Ezra, smiling, whispered something to Vin who smirked, an amused glint in his eye.

Chris slammed into another outcropping of rocks near the middle of the river. He braced against the boulders and Buck bounced off of him there. He kept Buck from being swept past solely by the fact that both now had a death grip on the catfish's lower jaw.

Buck couldn't support any other hold because of his broken left hand. The others clustered at the shore trying to decide how to help.

"I got it!" Larabee called.

"You got it?" Buck questioned.

"I got it!"

"You sure?!"

"Wilmington!"

They sounded like they might rather drown each other than make it to shore. Ezra shook his head. He had finally come to realize that, no, those two men couldn't be civil to each other in words. But there was an affection and trust there that went beyond words and fascinated the loner gambler.

Buck demonstrated that trust now when he let go of his prize catch, entrusted it to the other man, and grasped the rocks. His hold wouldn't last long. The force of the current would tear his grip free.

Chris used much of his remaining strength to hurl the large fish to shore. Josiah grabbed it before it could work its way back into the water.

Free of their prize, Chris and Buck released the rocks and gradually helped each other maneuver toward shore; cussing and discussing in no uncertain terms their opinions of each others skills ranging from fishing to swimming to surviving once they got their hands on each other on shore.

The others helped them once they reached the shallows and dragged them to dry land. There they lie panting for breath and slowly recovering their strength.

"What the hell was that, Larabee?" Nathan vented.

"Supper." He deadpanned between gasping breaths.

"Do you know how close you two were to drowning?"

He was interrupted by Buck's indignant acknowledgment of the fact that he had just watched Vin hand a silver dollar to Ezra. "If you boys're bettin' on whether we'd drown each other, I want a part of that."

"Not at all, Mr. Wilmington. We have long since given up being amazed at the resourcefulness when our fearless leader and yourself are involved. We simply placed a small wager on whether Mr. Jackson would yell at you or Mr. Larabee first."

"Oh. Okay, then." He closed his eyes as if he planned on taking a nap right there, wet, cold and shivering.

"Very funny. Get your sorry asses back toward camp and a fire before you catch your death."

Larabee found Vin in front of him offering a hand up and took it. They exchanged amused smiles. That had been fun. Despite the freezing waters.

Tanner was glad to see this side of his friend slowly re-emerging.

"Nice fish." Josiah boomed as he held it up for inspection. Larabee transferred the smile to Josiah.

Buck threw a cold, dripping arm around both JD and Ezra to their mock protests. They led the way up stream toward camp.

Nathan, knowing better than to try any doctoring yet, nevertheless was eyeballing the way Chris stretched his back. Must be bruised from hitting those rocks. He had intentionally taken the brunt of that impact knowing Buck's hand and ribs were still healing from the POW camp, not to mention the tender skin trying to survive the sunburn.

Buck was moving gingerly. He was protecting his bandaged hand. What was left of the bandage was filthy and ragged.

Both men had bloody right hands where the hundreds of needle sharp, rasp-like teeth of that bottom jaw had bit into their skin. Oh, well, it was nothing that wouldn't mend. And watching the hi-jinks of these two was worth the extra time he'd have to put into their healing. But damn, were they a handful.

Vin and Chris brought up the rear. Larabee was already reverting to his stoic self. Vin, however, was still smiling. Larabee had said, with Buck and Ezra in that POW camp, that he had been forced to examine the consequences of many of his actions - pushing friends away, riding off to avoid attachments.

All of the demons had by no means been exorcised, but these glimpses of the old Larabee, the one Buck fought for, showed the healing process had taken a giant step. And seeing Buck extend their level of friendship to include others had the somber gunfighter evaluating what he could lose or what he could gain.

And when JD had been willing to call out that one outlaw in a quick draw contest? That may have been a wake-up call.

Vin walked beside his friend in the companionable silence he was used to. He just wished that Chris coming to terms with some of his ghosts hadn't been at the expense of Ezra and Buck now being forced to come to terms with their own that they thought had been laid to rest or hadn't realize existed. They all three had their good days and bad. If they would remember they had the others to see them through, they would all be better off in the end.

Tanner scooped up tsome green cattails he intended to roast like ears of corn.

Nathan had a bag of wild onions, early spring dill and wild cilantro. They would use the peppers from pincushion cactus to season the beans and munched on jicama root.

He knew Josiah planned on showing JD how, if you rubbed the silvery membrane from the inside of the yellow cat you could get rid of the fishy taste. They rarely had this much time to put into a trail meal. Even Ezra was going to have to admit the meal was exceptionally tasty and filling. It was good to relax. And be here together.

Vin cast a quick glance at his best friend and then at Buck and the others.

 _The spirit of a hero protects everyone in sight  
The protective aura beckons all  
Like moths to a candle's light.  
Don't dare too close or the spirit to tame.  
Only he that could truly touch the fire,  
Would be another flame._

 **THE END**


End file.
